


Was it Me?

by waterwings



Series: The Texting Verse [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, College/University, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Wayward Son Compliant, Oblivious Simon, Texting, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24549130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterwings/pseuds/waterwings
Summary: Five years after Watford, Baz and Simon have gone their separate ways. Simon is finishing his last semester of Social Work (and is finally ready to date a bloke) and Baz has started a Masters program (and still dreaming of a certain chosen one's golden curls).After a stellar first date with Daniel (Simon's sure it was stellar. He got his number after all), Simon can't help but text him straight away.Except it's the wrong number.And a very snarky stranger replies.A snarky stranger who sounds a lot like Baz.Except it can't be Baz. Because Simon starts to fall for the prickly guy on the other end of his messages, and he would never fall for Baz.An AU where almost everything is the same, except Baz and Simon never got together, Simon has a normal amount of magic, and there are no wings or tails (sorry).
Relationships: Dev/Niall (Simon Snow), Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: The Texting Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2162103
Comments: 341
Kudos: 578





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First fic. Forgive me. I love this trope with all of my life force. :)

**Simon**

The light in the pub is dim and the plastic leather of the barstool feels slippery. I squint at the clock above the bar. It’s quarter past two in the morning. I can’t remember the last time I stayed out this late. 

My body is running on empty, my eyes are itching with the need to just roll into bed and pass out. But it’s all worth it.

I stare down at the slip of paper in my hands like it’s a bloody miracle. My palms are so sweaty, I’m the dictionary definition of clammy. And I’m shaking. I can see the tiny slip of paper vibrating between my fingers.

It’s fine. It’s totally fine. He gave me his number. Deep breaths. It’s no big deal. I mean… I am a guy. And he’s a guy.

_Well spotted Snow. Perhaps I underestimated you. Maybe you’re not hopelessly thick._

Fuck fuck fuck.

Even all these years later, I hear him in my head. Baz. Basil. Basilton Tyrannus fucking Grimm-Pitch. Posh arsehole who could cut you to pieces with his tongue—it’s a miracle I didn’t bleed out over the eight years I slept next to him.

_Murderous ex-roommate extraordinaire. Who you’re clearly still obsessed with. It is a bit pathetic Snow, even for you._

I shake my head, as if waggling my skull back and forth with make his voice fall out from between my ears. Fuck, if only I were so lucky.

It’s not like I have any reason to hate him anymore. The Humdrum is gone and the war is over. We didn’t have to duel to the death. No curses or dramatic meeting on the battlefield. No swords thrust through his vampire chest (would stabbing a vampire actually kill him?) (Fuck if I know.)

The thought of killing Baz actually makes me kinda sick. I never wanted to kill him. Not really. Fight him? Yeah. Know where he was all the time? Sure. But murder him?

No fucking way. 

Maybe the adults were all being a bit melodramatic. Maybe we all were.

_Do you really think you stood a chance? Even in your fantasies, Snow, you must know that I’m your superior. In every. Fucking. Way._

FUCK.

Why am I thinking about Baz right now? I should be thinking about Daniel. Daniel, who is tall and so goddamn fit and actually talked to me like I’m a human being and not just a total waste of space. Who wanted to know what I was studying (social work, last term), what I liked (all I could talk about was food. It was embarrassing. He didn’t seem to mind though…), what I want to do after I graduate in a few months (start work at the Youth Resource Centre, obviously).

I’m doing my final internship at the Youth Resource Centre and I don’t really shut up about it once someone gets me started. There’s just so many people, young people, who have nothing. Who didn’t ask for the hand they got, and are doing the best the can.

Most are homeless or couch surfing. Most don’t have parents who give a shit about them. Most of them are in care, or were in care till they signed themselves out. Most of them…well, they’re a lot like me, aren't they?

Like how I used to be. 

Except these kids didn’t have a Watford to run away to. They didn’t get to leave their shitty lives behind when a fucking wizard showed up to sign them out of care at eleven.

I don’t like it when people pity me. Never have. And so I don’t pity these kids. However I feel about the Mage now (and believe me when I tell say that those feelings are still a fucking mess), he took me out of a tough spot. And he never pitied me.

What do I want to do when I graduate? I want to give that back. Be that person for someone else. Except with fewer Goblins, no blown up dragons. And no vampire roommates.

_Still can’t let that go, even all these years later, can you Snow? I had quite the lasting impression, didn't i?_

It’s too much. I run my hands up into my curls and try not to pull my hair out. Sure, I think about Baz a bit (once a day maybe?) (Christ, is it really that often?) but not usually this much. I mean, sure, Daniel looks a bit like Baz. Taller. Dark hair (the longer the better). Most of the blokes I’m into do. Maybe it’s a type. Do I have a type? Is that a thing? I’ve never actually been on a date with a bloke before this one…I honestly have no idea.

Well, at least I know that my type includes guys now. That took a little longer than I normally admit to people. The whole realization was a bit of a mess...

...

Who am I kidding? It was a fucking disaster. Penny’s the only reason I got though. She found me elbows deep in scone batter doing a Buzzfeed quiz and (after flailing around our shared kitchen for the better part of half an hour on how I could possibly think Buzzfeed was a credible source after five years of uni) forced me to talk it out.

_You’re a disaster, Snow._

Don’t I know it, Baz. Don’t I fucking know it.

I’m so lost in my memories that I almost forget the piece of paper in my still-sweaty fingers. Me and Daniel met on a dating ap, and so getting his number felt kinda like a big deal. Almost feels surreal as I look down at the thing.  
  
Daniel tore the corner off a piece of paper from a fancy day planner he pulled out of his fancier messenger bag. (It looked like something Baz would have, all crisp pages and leather cover. Too posh to use the free calendar in his phone like the rest of us. Twat.) (Baz, not Daniel.) (Obviously).

_You’re a fucking peasant, Snow. Don’t hold my more tactile sensibilities against me._

I hate him. I hate him so much. I wish I could forget him. Eternal sunshine of my spotless mind him into oblivion.

_That movie is a tragic romance, Snow. Is that really the reference you’re going for?_

That’s it. I need to stop thinking about Baz. I look down at the number in my hands—fuck they’re still shaking. He’s a nice, fit, perfect bloke. He won’t insult me or try to bite my neck and suck me dry while I sleep (although, Baz never really did that kinda thing…maybe I was too hard on him and his creepy vampy ways…)

Fuck it, I’m dialling.

I bring the piece of paper closer to my face. The ink is a bit smudged where I manhandled it. Can’t really tell if the second-to-last digit is a 7 or a 1. Fuck, the last digit could be a 5 or a 6.

Why the fuck do my hands sweat so much? What if I call the wrong number and someone picks up and…oh god what if he picks up? He literally just left ten minutes ago. What am I thinking?

I can practically hear Penny in my head telling me to calm down, to ground myself.

I take one long breath in, counting off as I breathe. 1-2-3-4. Hold the breath. 2-2-3-4. Let it out. 1-2-3-4-5-6.

Better. Okay. I’ll text him. And it won’t be the wrong number. Because I’m pretty sure that it’s a 7 and a 5 and I’m just catastrophizing.

This is going to be fine.

I punch the number into my phone and start to type.

**Draft, unsent, Simon (2:27 am): hey had fun tonite maybe wanna get together this week?**

No, god no. Too desperate. He might not want to get together and then I’ll have put him in a weird spot and he’ll hate me.

_Breathe Simon._

I delete half the text, until all that’s left is

**Simon (2:29 am): hey had fun tonite**

Yeah, that’s better.

My thumb hovers over the little send arrow on my iPhone. Fuck it.

There.

Sent.

It’ll be fine.

I try to breathe in confidence and breathe out the anxious mess that’s crowding my chest. The clock above the bar no reads 2:30 am. My eyes are begging for the sweet release of sleep and I’ve got work at my practicum at 8am tomorrow morning. Whatever happens, it’s time to go home.

It’s late, but I don’t wanna waste the money on a cab. And even though I’m not the chosen one anymore, people still tend to stay out of my way (Penny says it’s my shoulders. I don’t really get it. She's says that's the privilege of masculinity enshrined in generations of patriarchy. I still don't get it).

I slip off the old bar stool and shrug my arms through my leather jacket. It was a gift from Penny for my birthday last year and I still feel like a bit of a prat in it, but she insists I fill it out nice (it looks a lot like something Baz used to wear and I kinda love that I can pull it off, even if he’ll never see me in it). On my way out, I toss the scrap of paper in the trash.

I feel better now. Calmer. A little embarrassed about how much one phone number threw me for a fucking loop. It’s just one dude and one number.

The Humdrum is gone, the world isn’t ending. I’m just texting a guy I met up with at a bar. It’s normal. It’s going to be fine.

I’m halfway home when I feel my phone buzz in my back pocket. My heart flutters a little in my chest. That was quick.

I’m excited—practically bursting—as I pull my phone out and squint down at the screen.

_Unknown (2:31am): Fun? Oh yes, I couldn’t agree more. Having a stranger wake you up in the middle of the night is so much fun. Especially when you have to be up in three hours. De-fucking-lightful._   
  


Fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thesis proposals, bad puns, and a siege of texts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the amazing feedback on the last chapter. My heart is melting.  
> I work a lot, but I'll try to update every second day.

**Baz**

I hear the high-pitched PING! just before my room fills with blue light. It takes my brain longer than normal to process what’s going on. I fumble for my phone, pulling it off my bedside table and yanking out the charging chord. There’s a notification blaring across my screen from a number I don’t recognize.

Who the actual fuck is texting me at…Merlin and Morgana, it’s 2:30 in the morning. I’ve only been asleep for an hour and I have to get be up in… (my brain struggles to process basic math) (my god what have I become?) three hours.

I’m presenting the proposal for my master’s thesis to the faculty today. Doomsday has officially arrived. I need to be sharp. I need a full night’s sleep. I **don’t** need bags under my eyes hanging like bats.

I’m so categorically fucked

I squint down at the message blaring across my screen. If it’s Dev, I’m going to strangle him with his intestines.

It’s not Dev.

**Unknown (2:29 am): hey had fun tonite**

A wrong number. Probably someone swooning all over a clueless boy with golden curls and perfect blue eyes, and no fucking clue that love is a disease and romance is dead. (I’m not bitter. Ask anyone.) I should ignore it. I know I should.

But I’m anxious and pissed and I want to yell at someone. You terrorize people to show them how much you care…right? (Too bad Snow was too dense to figure me out. Too bad I was too much of a coward to tell him how pretty he looked after a shower, as the steam clung to his skin and—)

Fuck, I need to think about something else.

My fingers start to tap to the beat of my irritation.

_BP (2:31 am): Fun? Oh yes, I couldn’t agree more. Having a stranger wake you up in the middle of the night is so much fun. Especially when you have to be up in three hours. De-fucking-lightful._

I place the phone face down on the table and throw my arm over my eyes. My sheets feel like they’re trying to strangle me. Tomorrow is going to be such a nightmare.

I’m nearly asleep again when my phone screeches to life; I need to change my fucking text alert.

 **Unknown (2:35 am):** **oh my god im so sorry i mustv messed up the number he left me**

My anger huffs out of my chest, all hot air and exhaustion.

BP (2:36 am): _Thank you so much for continuing to keep me awake with a barrage of obvious facts._

I’m being mean. I know it. But I just can’t help it.

 **Unknown (2:36 am):** **shit your right.**

**Unknown (2:36 am): im gonna go put my head in a toliot now.  
**

**Unknown (2:37 am): hope you get back to sleep.  
**

**Unknown (2:37 am): sry again**

My fingers hover over the messages, tracing the words. I can’t really place it, but there is something about them that feels familiar.

_BP (2:40 am): *you’re *I’m *toilet_

_BP (2:40 am): Now piss off, you thirsty twat._

Before they can send anything back, I switch my phone to do not disturb, double check my alarms (I’ve set four. Mornings are the devil’s work and I hate them), and try to get back to sleep.

I finally drift off to memories of blue eyes and the gentle afternoon sunlight shining through golden curls.

**Baz**

The sky is murky grey and growling. So far, the city’s been spared a downpour. The cumulus monsters grumble overhead, waiting for me to step foot outside before they let loose. It’d be just my luck today.

I woke up late (apparently four alarms aren’t enough) and barely scraped myself out of the bathroom with manageable hair and an appropriate outfit. When I stand in front of the English faculty members, pitching the thesis proposal that will define the next year and a half of my life, I’m going to look fucking pristine. I’m a Pitch. We dress to impress.

Dark circles be damned.

A small stack of cream coloured cue cards sit on the edge of my dining room table. It’s not like I need them—I’ve had my thesis proposal mapped out into a succinct five-minute pitch for weeks—but knowing that I have them makes me feel safe. Secure in the knowledge that even if my voice fails me (unlikely), that my brilliance will be stored in a few key terms and a rough outline.

The clock on my stove is blaring the numbers 7:35 and I swear that the bloody thing is laughing at me. This is not how this day was supposed to go. I refuse to be late. I fucking refuse.

Phone, wallet, messenger bag. All here. I’m out of my flat by 7:40, which is enough time, and I can breathe, and it will all be fine.

I’m halfway to the metro station when the clouds overhead roar to life. And because my life is destined to be a miserable tableau of unfortunate events, I forgot my fucking umbrella.

As each droplet connects with my scalp, I can feel my hope for the day evaporate. Fucking perfect.

…

There are four faces lined up at the table in front of me. I can feel their eyes looking me over. Evaluating me. Judging me. The department head, the graduate coordinator, my thesis supervisor, and an associate professor. Important people. People I planned to impress. People I wanted on my side.

“Mr. Pitch.”

“Yes Dr. Lokash?” My eyes are shifting in and out of focus. I’m just so goddamn tired.

“I asked you what theoretical framework you planned to work from. What will you root this exploration of Poe’s…what did you say again?”

Oh god.

“How the animal characters in his short stories symbolize different systemically oppressed figures who could not—at that moment in history—speak for themselves,” I finish for her.

“Yes. Thank you,” Dr. Lokash replies. “I was wondering how you will frame this investigation. From what theoretical angle will you approach your work?”

Aleister fucking Crowley, how did I forget to mention that?

Well, leaving my cue cards on the table didn’t help. But still, the theoretical approach is what I should have fucking lead with. My god, could this have gone any worse?

My throat is so dry, I feel like there’s sand obstructing my voice box. “Posthumanism,” I practically cough. I wonder if this is how Snow felt all of the time. Stumbling over his words like a pre-schooler. For a split second, guilt twinges in my gut.

“I’m partial to Donna Harraway,” I continue, pushing the words I know so well up and out of my chest. “Specifically, her canonical work on Cyborgs.”

Dr. Lokash’s thick eyebrows rise into her thicker bangs. “Oh? I wouldn’t have thought that’s the route you’d take. Still. Interesting.”

My blood pressure is rising. (Do vampires have blood pressure? Who the fuck knows.)

I hate the word interesting. It’s what stupid people say when they don’t invest enough energy to have a complex opinion. But I don’t say any of that.

_Breathe Baz. You’re bloody brilliant. You’ve got this._

(Sometimes, when I’m feeling really low, I hear him in my head. Imagine what it would be like if he were kind. If I’d ever let him close enough to try. It’s pathetic and it shreds my heart but I can’t stop.)

“It wasn’t my first instinct either,” I answer, trying to keep my voice level, “but, after doing several close readings of prospective stories, I found that Posthumanism captured Poe’s boundary pushing characters well.”

_There you go, Baz. Show them how big your fucking brain is._

“And imagine the puns,” Dr. Smith (graduate coordinator and animated lump of grey hair) says, chuckling. “Get it? Poe-st human?”

I try to force a laugh (I really do) but I fucking hate puns, and so it comes out more like a wheezing cough. I want to scream.

No. This is not how I pictured this day at all.

…

It’s not until I’m on the subway, listening to The Smiths and trying to pretend that the last hour of my life didn’t happen, that I finally have a chance to look at my phone. Fifteen unread messages. What the actual…

**Unknown (2:41 am): cant believe you corrected my grammar who the fuck ru  
**

**Unknown (2:41 am): i mean i know its bad  
**

**Unknown (2:42 am): but its a text u dont have to be a dick about it  
**

**Unknown (2:42 am): shit im still texting you ill stop**

I smile down at my phone in spite of myself. What a hopeless idiot (maybe a cute hopeless idiot) (what’s wrong with me? I don’t even know if he’s a bloke or a senior citizen) (maybe I should find out).

**Unknown (7:20): sorry about last nite  
**

**Unknown (7:30): this is the last msg i swear  
**

**Unknown (7:45): just wanna make sure i didnt fuck anything up for u or keep u up or some shit  
**

**Unknown (7:48 am): ru ignorng me???  
**

**Unknown (7:48 am): i mean i guess im a stranger and stranger danger and all that ;)  
**

**Unknown (7:48 am): god i dont know why i winked pls ignore  
**

**Unknown (7:49 am): … so ur rlly not gonna answer???  
**

**Unknown (7: 51 am): well i guess this is goodby  
**

**Unknown (7:51 am): well never get to know each other  
**

**Unknown (7:52 am): seen what couldve been  
**

**Unknown (7:52 am): farewell angsty stranger**

This isn’t how normal people text. This is a barrage, a battering ram, a fucking legion of texts rushing my phone. On any other day, I would’ve ignored it, would’ve blocked the number and went on with my life. Maybe it’s because this morning has been such a nightmare or maybe it’s because the messages are so bad they’re almost sweet (like those dogs that are so ugly they’re cute.) (Disgusting). I’m answering before I realize what’s happening.

_BP (9:02 am): Angsty? That seems like a big word for you.  
_

**Unknown (9:03 am): hes alive!!!!  
**

_BP (9:03 am): *He’s  
_

_BP (9:03 am): Also, did you just assume my gender?  
_

**Unknown (9:04 am): Oh my god I’m so sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry.  
**

_BP (9:04 am):_ _Was that you…trying to punctuate?  
_

**Unknown (9:04 am): …  
**

**Unknown (9:05 am): yeah  
**

**Unknown (9:05 am): thought maybe youd like it, being all posh with your fancy grammer**

I’m grinning now, like a bloody idiot, in the middle of the subway, with hair that looks like it was electrocuted. But I don’t care.

_BP (9:06 am): *you’d *grammar  
_

_BP (9:06 am): I am. He. A bloke, I mean.  
_

**Unknown (9:07 am): I KNEW IT YASSSSSSSS OHMYGOD ME TO**

I try to control the weird way my stomach twists. He’s just a guy, who was messaging another guy, presumably after a date with said guy. That doesn’t mean anything. This whole thing feels too much like a bad Rom Com and so I crush the butterflies in my stomach.

_BP (9:08 am): *too  
_

_BP (9:08 am): Also, are you having a stroke? Do you need me to call someone?_

He ignores me.

**Unknown (9:09 am): how old ru? im 23  
**

_BP (9:09 am): Excuse me? Weren’t you, only moments ago, citing the importance of stranger danger awareness?  
_

**Unknown (9:10 am): i mean…shit  
**

_BP (9:10 am): You don’t think things through, do you?  
_

**Unknown (9:11 am): not usually no but angry stranger i need to know how old ur!!!!!  
**

_BP (9:11 am): Those exclamation points are burning my retinas. Has no one explained to you the importance of using them sparingly?  
_

**Unknown (9:12 am): fuck u ill spell how i want to  
**

**Unknown (9:12 am): plus i rlly want to know!!!!!!!!!!!!  
**

_BP (9:13 am): Know what?  
_

**Unknown (9:13 am): ughhhhhh everything! but lets start with age  
**

_BP (9:14 am): Stranger danger, gremlin.  
_

**Unknown (9:14 am): u could make an eception for me ;)**

Crowley, he’s winking at me again.

_BP (9:15 am): I’d much rather preserve the suspense. I could be a balding geriatric with stunning thumb mobility or a teenager with an exceptional vocabulary. You would never know the truth.  
_

_BP (9:15 am): Also, don’t you have class or a job? Something else you should be doing instead of harassing me?  
_

**Unknown (9:16 am): naw were still in the middle of morning meeting.  
**

**Unknown (9:16 am): tammy is ranting about one of our kids and its kinda hard to stay awake  
**

**Unknown (9:17 am) I like most ppl but her voice is awful  
**

**Unknown (9:17 am): like  
**

**Unknown (9:17 am): the oposite of what is good  
**

**Unknown (9:18 am): like a saw on a violen  
**

**Unknown (9:18 am): NO!! her voice feels like rlly slow internet  
**

**Unknown (9:18 am): its like cold coffe  
**

**Unknown (9:18 am): its so bad stranger!!!**

Right. I need to pretend that I find this stream of consciousness text-capade anything but cute. (Crowley, it’s really fucking cute.)

_BP (9:20 am): I find your lack of basic grammar and spelling skills incredibly distressing._

**Unknown (9:21 am): fuck youuuuuuuuuuuuu  
**

**Unknown (9:21 am): oh shit actually gotta go now. Tammy saw me on my phone and shes walking over oh**

**Unknown (9:21 am): fuck fuck fuck pray for me stranger!!!!**

There’s an ache in my cheeks—Crowley, I think it’s from smiling. There’s something wrong with me.

_BP (9:25): You’re a mess. An absolute disaster._

_BP (9:30): I’m 24._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bleach blonde bullies, cute mental health workers, and Simon thinks he has a type (but doesn't realize that his type is Baz)
> 
> Just a note, there is some discussion of depression and psychosis in this chapter (light, but still there).  
> Still trying to update every second day (pray for me!)

**Simon**

The couch cushions are lumpy, they smell like stale cigarettes, and the fake leather is cracking, but it can’t be helped really. There’s not a lot of money when you’re working in non-profit and our already super slim budget didn’t prioritize the couches.

The Youth Resource Centre is so much… **more** than it sounds. It’s not just a place that hands out flyers.

We’ve got a mental health team, a bunch of different housing units we own and manage, the lunch and supper program, and the outreach van. We mostly help homeless kids—anyone from 16-29—but I’ve never known the YRC to turn someone away.

During the day, we’re open for people to drop in (which is why we have the couches). We’ve got a couple ratty looking guitars and a huge TV mounted on the wall with a big crack across the screen.

Faith put that crack there on my second fucking day.

_Probably a reaction to your face, Snow. Not unreasonable._

I was in the kitchen when it happened. She looked like she might’ve been in psychosis (meth-induced maybe, but with her it’s kinda hard to tell) when another youth tried to change the channel. And she just chucked her lunch plate at the screen.

We really should’ve barred her from the property (gotta keep the drop-in space safe, you know?) but she doesn’t really have anywhere else to go. In the end, I helped her deescalate, matching her breathing, riding through the feelings. And then she cleaned the spaghetti off the screen and I picked up that shattered porcelain and we’ve been making do with the crack ever since.

Mornings at YRC always start the same. All the staff sink into the couches and chat about the youth. Lots of our clients are a bit transient, coming and going, drifting away for a while, then finding their way back.

The staff chatter about little things like how their ID applications are going or if they were able to find safe housing for a regular who really needs it. If we could get one a therapist or another a good family doctor. It all sounds small, but it’s not. Especially when no one else is helping them.

Most of the people I see are alone. Sometimes running away from something bad. Sometimes just trying to tread water, trying not to drown. Penny worries when I tell her about this stuff. Worries that the work is gonna burn me out. But (and I don’t say this very often), Penny’s wrong about that. Yeah, some of the shit I see is heavy. But it just makes me feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

_Your hero complex should really be examined by a trained mental health professional, Snow._

I try to block out Baz’s perfect voice, but it’s hard to focus. Cause Tammy is marching towards me looking pissed and winded and I’m so fucked.

“Texting more interesting than my updates, Simon?”

I like to think I’m a pretty friendly guy. Most people seem to like me (with one gigantic vampire-shaped exception). Everyone at the YRC likes me.

Everyone except for Tammy.

My first day, she hauled me into her office and let me know exactly how she felt about me.

“We don’t do practicum placements, Simon. Because students take up time. Staff resources. They usually mess up and laze around and do fuck all. And then they get their pretty degrees and then go and take other peoples’ kids.”

“Uh, sorry? I…uh… I asked for YRC. I think what you do is important, yeah?”

She hadn’t said anything. Just waved me out of her office with a vaguely threatening, “I’ll be watching you.”

Apparently, she hates social workers. Something personal, I think. But no one has told me why so I haven’t asked.

Her bleach blond hair is particularly blinding this morning. Crowley, I shouldn’t’ve stayed out so late. “Sorry…” my mouth cracks open in a giant yawn. “I was just—”

“Can’t keep your nose out of your phone for two seconds?”

My god, her glare could rival Baz’s.

_My glare is signature. It is unique. It knows no rival—_

“I…I wasn’t…”

A familiar voice cuts me off before I can start rambling. “He was checking in with one of my clients Tammy. Go have some coffee before you bite someone else’s head off.”

John swoops in behind me and wraps an arm around my shoulder.

“Whatever,” Tammy barks.

Thank fuck for John.

John is the mental health worker at YRC. He’s young (29), fucking amazing at his job (the youth love him so much), and he’s one of the fittest blokes I’ve ever seen (probably the second fittest after Baz. I hate how fucking fit Baz used to be…is…fuck I have no idea).

_You have a crush Snow? How quaint._

Confirmed straight, so I don’t have a chance, but still a sight for sore eyes. Especially when he’s rescuing me from Tammy.

John is also my practicum instructor.

“So,” John says, leaning over my shoulder and trying to peek at my screen. “Is that the guy from last night?”

I blush.

“Technically no.”

“You got another on the go!” His eyebrows shoot up. “Snow, you player.”

My cheeks fill with warmth. “Shut up please.”

John runs his hands through his thick brown hair and grins at me. “C’mon. We’ve got a home visit. You’re leading this one, yeah?”

I nod and grab the book where I keep my case notes. On my way out the door, I peek at my phone. Two unread messages.

_Angsty Stranger (9:20): You’re a mess. An absolute disaster._

_Angsty Stranger (9:25): I’m 24._

My stomach twists. It’s like hope and something else that I can’t put my finger on.

I feel an elbow in my ribs. “You’re eye-fucking your phone.”

I take it back. John’s the worst.

The home visit was…complicated. John and me were checking in on Harry. He’s one of the kids in our housing units.

I know at least five things about Harry:

1) he’s 20  
2) he’s just about to age out of care (used to stay with his aunt and uncle, but they practically starved him, poor kid. Kept him in a fucking closet. Who does that?)  
3) he’s super fucking depressed (which is why we’re checking in)  
4) he fights a lot  
5) he hates his social worker. Like properly hates her. Threatens to burn down the child protection building where she works and spread the ashes of his case file over the Thames kinda hate. 

Most of the workers at YRC think he’s an angry twat (and sure, he can be), but I like the kid. He kinda reminds me of…well me. Usually, we get on brilliantly.

Today…well, today he wouldn’t get out of bed. Nothing I said helped. Nothing I did made it better. And sometimes, that’s just the way it goes. Depression’s a bitch.

I’m going back later with ice-cream sandwiches.

I’ve never been good at waiting. When I want something, I just kinda go for it. What’s that nike saying? Just do it? Yeah, that’s me in swoosh.

Waiting to text angsty stranger until lunch was a special kind of torture. To be honest, I’m a little shocked he’s still answering me. Like, he’s seemed pretty unimpressed so far. But there’s a part of me that likes how prickly he is. He’s a cactus.

A super cute cactus.

Maybe.

Shit.

…I have no idea what he looks like.

_Snow, did you actually just realize that now?_

It’s awful, but I did just realize that now.

I’m such an idiot.

Fuck. I need to ask him. In a non-creepy way.

**Draft unsent, Simon (12:19 pm): hey stranger wat u look like? im picturing you tall with dark hair and stormy eyes but that mghit just be a me thing. i think its my type but im new to dating blokes so who knows you know?**

_Send that, Snow, and he will definitely have you arrested._

Sometimes, inner Baz is right.

I can’t send that.

Whatever, I’ll deal with cuteness later. He doesn’t even need to be cute physically. He’s definitely cute emotionally.

**Simon (12:20 pm): whats your name?**

That’s less weird. Definitely more appropriate.

_Angsty Stranger (12:24 pm): No._

Oh. Shit.

**Simon (12:24 pm): cmon pleeeeeeeeeeaaaase**

_Angst Stranger (12:25 pm): Unlike you, I possess basic survival instincts._

**Simon (12:25 pm): ???**

_Angsty Stranger (12:26pm): I don’t divulge personal information to complete strangers._

**Simon (12:27 pm): …**

**Simon (12:27 pm): even if i ask rlly nice?**

_Angsty Stranger (12:28 pm): Did someone drop you on your head as a young child?_

**Simon (12:29 pm): ru worried about me stranger?????**

_Angsty Stranger (12:30 pm): Your interpretations of my messages are wildly inaccurate._

**Simon (12:31):** **aw stranger its so nice of u to care**

_..._

**Simon (3:47pm): ive figured it out!!!!!!!**

_Angsty Stranger (3:54 pm): The exclamation points are giving me heart burn. I can feel your enthusiasm buzzing between our cellular devices._

**Simon (3:55pm): u know maybe ur right**

_Angsty Stranger (3:57 pm): I generally am, so you will need to be more specific._

**Simon (3:57 pm): u rlly sound old dude**

**Simon (3:57 pm): celular devices? rlly?**

**Simon (3:58 pm): but shut up for a sec**

**Simon (3:58 pm): u can just send me a pic and i can send one back and then well know for sure**

_Angsty Stranger (3:59 pm): …_

_Angsty Stranger (3:59 pm): I asked before and will admit it was mostly in jest, but now I find myself legitimately concerned._

**Simon (4:00 pm): ???**

_Angsty Stranger (4:01pm): Are you normally this thick, or are you just dazzled by my charms and attention. I know that I can be distracting. I won’t hold it against you._

**Simon (4:02 pm): fuck off**

**Simon (4:02 pm): whats wrong with sending pics?**

_Angsty Stranger (4:04 pm): …_

_Angsty Stranger (4:04 pm): Do you know what the phrase “googling” means?_

_Angsty Stranger (4:05 pm): Tell me honestly. I promise not to hold it against you._

**Simon (4:05 pm): kay ur starting to piss me off**

_Angsty Stranger (4:06 pm): Patience, sweet idiot._

_Angsty Stranger (4:06 pm): Google catfishing._

**Simon (4:08 pm): …**

**Simon (4:08 pm): kay i didnt realize that was a thing**

**Simon (4:09 pm): Also, did u just call me sweet?**

_Angsty Stranger (4:12 pm): Did you just punctuate?_

**Simon (4:13 pm): stop dodging my questions**

_Angsty Stranger (4:14 pm): You know, after going so long without a proper sentence, I find your efforts—basic as they may be—to be borderline appealing._

_Angsty Stranger (4:14 pm): What have you done to me?_

**Simon (4:15 pm): u think your being mean but all i heard ws that you think im sweet and apealing**

**Simon (4:15 pm): not so stupdi now am i???**

_Angsty Stranger (4:16 pm): *stupid_

“Hey Simon?”

I look up from my phone at Harry. He’s got a bit of ice-cream dripping down his wrist, but he’s sitting up in bed, and that’s a start.

“Yeah?”

“Are you blushing?”

The words stick like peanut butter to the roof of my mouth.

I’m so fucked.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggplants, the glory of Jeff Goldblum's chest, and the perils of falling in love.  
> Also, a sassy Penny makes her entrance
> 
> Still falling to pieces with all the positivity and still aiming to update every other day (the two things may be related).

**Baz**

Rain is still pattering against the windows, but this time I’m inside and safe from sheets of grey. It’s a Friday night, and my plans include flannel pajamas (already on) with the heat blasting (isn’t it always), a cup of tea and Netflix (nearly there). I stir in a few spoonfuls of sugar and settle down on the sofa under the window, remote at the ready.

Living alone has its perks, but sometimes I miss Fiona. I lived in her flat for the first three years of my undergrad and, while I’ll deny it to her face, those were some of the better years of my life.

After I left Watford, everything was just so…much. The world felt off kilter. Untethered. The Humdrum was gone, and sure, the whole world was celebrating and I know I should’ve felt something. But Snow had disappeared.

He just stopped coming to school. You’d think I would’ve savoured having the room to myself for the last few months of eighth year, but honestly, it left me reeling. The war I’d been preparing for my whole life just didn’t happen. Everything that had given me meaning resolved itself into a neat little package.

I should’ve been happy. Snow and I both survived. I’d never dreamed there was a reality where that outcome was possible. It was a victory. A proper happy ending.

Except it wasn’t.

I had no reason to hate him anymore. No reason to terrorize him. No reason to talk to him. No reason to find him. It was all gone. In an instant. Faster than I knew how to handle. Everything felt so futile.

And I missed him. Crowley, I missed him.

I tried to look him up once. It was late in my second year of uni. I’d just gotten home from a date that had been objectively fine. Nice even. He’d been soft (he didn’t yell at me or fight me on everything), he read, he listened to me talk about my coursework (I think I rambled about the Russian authors of the early twentieth century and how they were all criminally underrated) (I was really taken with Russian lit that year). I should’ve been falling all over myself. But instead, all I could think about was Simon fucking Snow.

In the first and only lapse in resolve, I googled him. Tried to find a Facebook page or an Instagram account. Something to prove he was alive and whole and happy.

But there was nothing. 

Living with Fiona helped. Sometimes, we would drink red wine and watch old episodes of the Golden Girls. Sometimes we ate excessive amounts of Chinese takeout. I got the musical education my father could never provide.

But we mostly just learned to live. To live without the threat of the Mage and the end of the magical world. It was nice.

_We could’ve done that too, y’know? Learned to not hate each other? We were starting to figure it out near the end._

The Simon in my head is so much nicer than the real one.

As if on cue, I feel my phone vibrate in my lap.

**Unknown (9:45 pm): stranger i feel like i dnot know u at all**

We’ve been texting for most of the day and I’ve collected little details about my late-night stranger. He is doing a social work degree—is nearly finished. It took him five years instead of the usual four (he said he had to work loads to afford to live. It was a lot to balance, and so he did a reduced course load and summer classes). He works at a youth centre and he loves it.

He’s good.

He’s the kind of person who wants to make the world better.

He’s too good for me.

My fingers ache to respond, but I let my phone sit. Don’t want to appear too keen to talk. I’m a Pitch and we are examples of restraint and poise. We are not desperate.

I last two minutes.

_BP (9:47 pm): I am unknowable. An enigma._

**Unknown (9:47 pm): i kinda want to**

My heart is racing (well, by vampire standards).

_BP (9:48 pm): Want to what?_

**Unknown (9:48 pm): know u**

**Unknown (9:49 pm): maybe if we get to know each othr THEN we can send a pic or meet or something and you wont think im cathunting you**

_BP (9:50 pm): *catfishing_

_BP (9:51 pm): And I cannot believe that is the only thing about that sentence I bothered to correct. You are wearing me down, grammar cretin._

**Grammar Cretin (9:51 pm): srsly tho**

**Grammar Cretin (9:52 pm): tell me soemthing about u**

I sigh into my tea and feel the heat rush over my cheeks. I can’t believe I’m about to let this happen…

_BP (9:54 pm): You may ask me questions. But please, no stereotypical ones. If I agree to do this, you need to ensure the inquiries are unique._

**Grammar Cretin (9:54 pm): wat why? also u said pls**

**Grammar Cretin (9:54 pm): i like when your nice to me**

My stomach drops. 

_Draft, unsent, BP (9:55): I like being nice to you too, beautiful stranger. I’ll try to keep being nice and hope that you find something about me to like. I’ll try to keep you from realizing that I am dead inside. Quite literally._

Great snakes I’m in trouble.

_BP: (9:58 pm): *you’re_

_BP (9:58 pm): The number of times I’ve been asked my favourite colour or my favourite animal on a first date…it is actually obscene. How do people think these tidbits are useful?_

**Grammar Cretin (9:59 pm): i mean i wouldnt mind knowng your fave color**

He’s determined to end me, to bludgeon me with kindness.

_BP (10:00 pm): Creative questions or nothing. Stimulate my finer sensibilities._

**Grammar Cretin (10:01 pm): ur kinda needy u know that?**

_BP (10:02 pm): Was that a question?_

**Grammar Cretin (10:02 pm): fuck u**

**Grammar Cretin (10:03 pm): okay hang on gotta think**

_BP (10:04 pm): I assume that is a new experience for you. Take your time._

**Grammar Cretin (10:05 pm): im gonna choose to ignor that**

So this is my Friday evening. Texting a total stranger who sent me a message by mistake at two in the morning. After a date with some other guy.

I’m tempted to ask him if he managed to get in touch with the actual bloke who he went out with. It sounded like they had a nice enough time. That’s what his message implied, anyway (not that I scrolled up and re-read it for clues. I obviously didn’t do that). But I don’t ask.

**Grammar Cretin (10:07 pm): famos person u hate that your attractd to but u cnat help it cause they fiiiiiiine**

I grin appreciatively down at my phone. That’s not a bad question, honestly. 

**Grammar Cretin: (10:07 pm): mines david tennant**

**Grammar Cretin: (10:07 pm): cause hes the doctor and the first man who touchd my heart**

**Grammar Cretin: (10:08 pm): but his lips are so wierd**

**Grammar Cretin: (10:08 pm): and the whole thing is CONFUSING!!!!!**

_BP (10:09 pm): You're tastes are questionable, stranger._

_BP (10:09 pm): The obvious answer is Jeff Goldblum._

**Grammar Cretin (10:09 pm): Who?**

_BP (10:10 pm): …_

_BP (10:10 pm): Have you never seen Jurassic Park?_

**Grammar Cretin (10:11 pm): no**

_BP (10:11 pm): how is that even possible?!_

**Grammar Cretin (10:12 pm): wow i must rlly have fucked up**

**Grammar Cretin (10:12 pm): you forgot to capitlaze**

_BP (10:13 pm): *capitalize_

_BP (10:13 pm): I don't think you understand how incredibly distressed I am right now._

**Grammar Cretin (10:14 pm): posh stranger your werid u know that?**

_BP (10:15 pm): Hush. The image of Jeff Goldbum’s glorious sweaty chest as he reclines in the back of an open-topped jeep is a slice of heaven, stranger, and I’m devastated you’ve been denied it for so long._

_BP (10:16 pm): Please wait while I rectify this situation._

_BP (10:18 pm): Image file sent_

**Grammar Cretin (10:19 pm): …**

_BP (10:19 pm): Well??_

**Grammar Cretin (10:21 pm): well thats proper gay**

**Grammar Cretin (10:22 pm): i could eat him**

**Grammar Cretin (10:22 pm): but hes…yeah**

**Grammar Cretin (10:22 pm): i hate his smug face**

**Grammar Cretin (10:23 pm): your so right**

_BP (10:24 pm): *you’re_

**Grammar Cretin (10:27 pm): not to be rude but does that mean your into blokes or men or whatever?**

I have no way of knowing, but I’d be willing to bet (a lot of money) that my grammar cretin is blushing.

_BP (10:28 pm): Well spotted, stranger._

**Grammar Cretin (10:29 pm): good**

**Grammar Cretin (10:29 pm): great**

**Grammar Cretin (10:30 pm): cool**

I think I’ve broken him.

**Simon**

“Who’re you texting Si?”

I jerk up from my spot on the couch.

“What!”

Penny looks over her shoulder at me, her arms elbow deep in dishwater.

“Are you blushing?”

“No.”

“Simon…”

“Shut up,” I growl, trying to slow my breathing.

In-2-3-4.

“OH!” Penny seems to have a realization and spins around, one sudsy hand on her hip, the other pushing her glasses up on her nose. “Does that mean that yesterday was a success?”

I can’t help it. I grin as I peek down at my phone. “I guess you could say that.”

Penny’s smirk melts into genuine happiness. “Of course it was. You’re properly charming. And if what’s-his-name didn’t see that right away, he’d’ve been a total waste of space.”

The blush that started in my cheeks is in full bloom now. “Thanks Pen.”

Penny grunts and turns back to the mess in the sink.

Living with Penny is so easy. We fit. In the way only best-friends-who-saved-the-world can really manage. It’s just so easy with Pen. I cook every night and she does up the dishes. I water the plants and she does the toilet. I don’t chew her out for late night Skype dates with Micah (or ask why she casts silencing charms every time) and she doesn’t force me to hang my laundry. It’s a good system and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“What’s his name again?” she asks nonchalantly.

“Well… I uh…I don’t really know?”

When she turns around this time, it is slow, measured, and her playful grin is gone.

“What d’you mean?”

Oh no.

I should’ve lied. I really should’ve lied.

“Well, it was supposed to be Daniel.”

“Supposed to be?” Her eyebrows have disappeared beneath her purple fringe.

“See, I went out with Daniel.”

“Yes, I know.”

“And then, he gave me his number.”

“And.”

“And I messaged him.”

Penny sighs with her whole body. “Simon, why’re you making this so compl—

“But it was the wrong number!” I say too fast. It all comes out in a jumble.

“Simon. Slow down.”

“I got all sweaty Pen.” I’m practically flailing now, my mobile in one hand, a dirty fork in the other. “And I smudged the numbers.”

“Why didn’t you just get him to program it in!” She’s yelling now. I’m yelling. Why are we both yelling?!

Come to think of it, Daniel did reach for my phone near the end of the night. (It’s the first time I’ve thought of him since he left the bar. The sexy stranger has been quite distracting). But I thought he was leaning in to hold my hand and I flinched and pulled away.

And then he’d reached into his bag and pulled out the planner…

I’m such a fucking idiot.

“I don’t know! I don’t know how to date! I don’t know the fucking rules!”

Penny storms over to the couch and, even though she’s like half a foot shorter than me, manages to make me feel like a tiny idiot. I try to hide my face in the couch cushions.

“Simon. Did you text a wrong number?”

My words are completely gone now. I nod, trying to look anywhere but Penny.

“Did they answer you?”

I nod again.

“Is that who you’re texting now?”

“Yes.” I feel like I’m twelve. Maybe this is what it’s like to have your parents get mad at you. I wouldn’t really know.

“SIMON. WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT STRANGER DANGER!”

Okay, NOW I really feel like I’m twelve.

“It’s fine Pen he’s really nice in a sarcastic kind of way and I’ve been texting him all day and I’d know if he were a creep I really would don’t worry.”

Silence.

I try to find the courage to look up and face the wrath of my best friend. “Don’t be mad,” I squeak.

She breathes in once and then lets the air out slowly. Her curls are crackling in the humid air. “I’m not mad. Just…you trust too easy. You always have.”

“Not Baz.”

Penny rolls her eyes. “That’s the only exception to that rule and you know it.”

She’s right, but I don’t need to say so. So I don’t.

“Just be careful Simon.”

I flop back on the sofa and wrap one of the throw blankets around my shoulders. “Don’t worry. I got this. I’m going on the charm offensive.”

“To win the heart of an internet troll?”

“Don’t talk about my sexy stranger like that! Oh, and Pen?”

She narrows her eyes as she looks down at me.

“You’ve got some suds on your nose.”

She swats her hand across her face and retreats back to the kitchen.

Simon's dignity—1 Penelope—0

“Oy!” I call out. “What’s a weird question to ask someone you just met?”

She has a wooden spoon in her hand, and she waves it over her shoulder as she answers, “What’s your favourite vegetable?”

**Simon (10:41 pm): wats your fave vegetable?**

_Sexy Stranger (10:42 pm): You’re serious?_

**Simon (10:42 pm): uh yeah**

_Sexy Stranger (10:43 pm): 🍆_

_Sexy Stranger (10:43 pm): ;)_

**Simon (10:44 pm): eggplants? huh thats intersting**

**Simon (10:45 pm): i like eggplants too**

_Sexy Stranger (10:46 pm): …_

_Sexy Stranger (10:46 pm): Yeah, you do._

_Sexy Stranger (10:47 pm): 🍆🍆🍆_

“Penny, why’s he sending me eggplants?”

Penny lets out a colossal snort.

**Simon (10:49 pm): i dont undersatnd**

_Sexy Stranger (10:50 pm): Oh, my simple stranger._

_Sexy Stranger (10:50 pm): Okay, in an effort at textual education, I want you to tell me what it looks like._

_Sexy Stranger (10:50 pm): 🍆_

_Sexy Stranger (10:51 pm): Really use your imagination._

I stare down at the curved purple vegetable…

**Simon (10:53 pm): ohhhhhhhhh**

**Simon (10:53 pm): thats supposed to be a dick huh?**

**Simon (10:54 pm): so many things r making sense**

**Simon (10:54 pm): so**

**Simon (10:54 pm): many**

**Simon (10:54 pm): things**

**Simon (10:55 pm): fuck blokes on tinder used to mssge me those all the time**

**Simon (10:55 pm): …**

**Simon (10:56 pm): well then**

_Sexy Stranger (10:57 pm): You are actually 23, yes?_

**Simon (10:57 pm): fuck off im new to texting**

**Simon (10:58 pm): and onilne dating**

**Simon (10:58 pm): and all of it rlly**

_Sexy Stranger (10:59 pm): It’s the 21 st century, simple stranger. Why is your social media knowledge so stunted?_

**Simon (11:00 pm): …**

**Simon (11:00 pm): dunno. maybe cause i grew up in care**

Fuck, probably shouldn’t’ve said that. Too much way too soon. He doesn’t need my whole tragic childhood. Why did I type that? Fuck fuck fuck.

**Baz**

Oh. Shit. Of course he did. I’m a fucking asshole.

Up until this moment, I’ve been trying to ignore how much my grammar cretin reminds me of Snow. Trying to pretend that, every time my pocket buzzed today, I didn’t imagine it was him messaging on the other end. Pretend that I wasn’t dreaming about that smile—Snow’s smile was like the fucking sun. It lit me up from the inside out, burned straight through me, and left me feeling raw and breathless.

Every.

Fucking.

Time.

The idea that I could make him smile like that, that his smiles could be directed at me…well, it hurts too much.

Almost as much as the dream that we could start our story over. That I could be nice. (Well no. Not nice. I’m not built for nice.) (But softer. Less aggressively cruel.) And he could get to know me and, if the universe was feeling especially benevolent, that he could actually like what he saw.

That this stranger also grew up in care takes that dream into treacherous territory. I know he’s not Simon. The chances are astronomical. I know it. But the similarities are starting to make me hope.

It’s too damn much.

My jaw is set in a firm line. I can feel the contrast against the smile that has been splitting my cheeks all day.

_BP (11:08 pm): I didn’t realize. I suppose I can help fill in some of the gaps in your pop culture education. Lesson one: never send an eggplant emoji. Nothing good will come from any message that includes an eggplant emoji._

It’s the nicest message I can manage. It’s not perfect, but I hope it’s enough.

 **Grammar Cretin (11:10 pm):** 🍆🍆🍆

Well then.

_BP (11:12 pm): You are incorrigible and a terrible listener._

**Grammar Cretin (11:13 pm): u love it**

I do, but I’m not telling him that.

**Grammar Cretin (11:14 pm): right ive more questions**

**Grammar Cretin (11:15 pm): u dont mind do u?**

_BP (11:17 pm): I exist only to satisfy your curiosity._

**Grammar Cretin (11:18 pm): whos the soundtrack of your life?**

_BP (11:19 pm): That’s a very personal question, grammar cretin._

**Grammar Cretin (11:19): thats the point**

_BP (11:20 pm): Touché._

_BP (11:20 pm): David Bowie, probably._

**Grammar Cretin (11:21 pm): hang on lemme google**

**Grammar Cretin: (11:25): You’re weird.**

_BP (11:25 pm): OH MY GOD YOU DID IT_

_BP (11:25 pm): I’M SO PROUD OF YOU_

_BP (11:25 pm): …_

_BP (11:26 pm): I mean *ahem* well done, nightmarish texting companion. I’m mildly impressed by your first grammatically correct sentence._

**Grammar Cretin (11:28 pm): You realize that I can actually write all proper like, yeah? That’s kinda the point of university and I’ve managed to get through that well enough. I just think it’s kinda pointless in a text message, that’s all.**

_BP (11:30 pm): You are shattering everything I’ve ever known about you. Hang on. Must update your name in my mobile._

**Grammar Cretin (11:31): wait wats my name in ur phone??????**

_BP (11:32 pm): Not telling._

**Lazy Cretin (11:33 pm): fuck u**

**Lazy Cretin (11:34 pm): kay next**

**Lazy Cretin (11:34 pm): wats a movie that made you cry?**

_BP (11:36 pm): Trick question. I don’t cry. I have an impenetrable wall of sarcasm and bitterness that renders my tear ducts absolutely useless. Any and all swells of emotional music designed to elicit tears are totally neutralized._

**Lazy Cretin (11:37 pm): fuck u dont lie**

_BP (11:38 pm): …_

_BP (11:38 pm): La La Land._

_BP (11:39 pm): Keep that information to yourself, stranger. Or I will find you and spoon out your eyeballs._

**Lazy Cretin (11:40 pm): awe angry stranger has a heart!**

**Lazy Cretin (11:41 pm): <3**

**Lazy Cretin (11:41 pm): <3 <3 <3 <3**

_BP (11:42 pm): Not sure why that is the meaning you gleaned from those texts, but to each their own._

_BP (11:43 pm): Right, I need to sleep. One more and then I need this strange interrogation to end._

**Lazy Cretin (11:44 pm): hmmmmm**

**Lazy Cretin (11:44 pm): mmmmmmmmmmmmmm**

**Lazy Cretin (11:44 pm): mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm**

_BP (11:45 pm): Alright, goodnight, you numpty._

**Lazy Cretin (11:46 pm): wait!!! hav you ever been in love?**

Have I what? Who asks something like that? It’s totally inappropriate. It’s intrusive. It’s…well it’s hitting a little too close to home.

_You should’ve told me, Baz. Things could’ve been different._

No, things bloody well couldn’t. I know the Snow I imagine in my head is a fantasy, but even my subconscious should know better. Snow would’ve laughed me out of the room. He would’ve spat in my face. He would’ve accused me of plotting.

_BP (11:49 pm): Excuse me?_

**Lazy Cretin (11:50): seems like a simple qustion to me**

Simple! What a fucking…my fingers flash across the screen.

_BP (11:52 pm): Simple? You really are slow, aren’t you? What a ridiculous sentiment. Of all the thoughts available to you, you went with that cliché excuse for a question? Love is an artificial construct. A useless idea designed to perpetuate a heteronormative society, whose sole goal is to pump out babies in neat family units and to resist millions of years of evolutionary biology. What a stupid thing to ask._

**Lazy Cretin (11:54 pm): …**

**Lazy Cretin (11:54 pm): hit a nerve?**

_BP (11:55 pm): No._

**Lazy Cretin (11:56 pm): no wat?**

_BP (11:57 pm): No, you did not hit a nerve._

**Lazy Cretin (11:58 pm): so ru gonna answer**

_BP (12:01 am): Yes._

**Lazy Cretin (12:02 am): yes wat?**

_BP (12: 03 am): …_

_BP (12:03 am): Yes, I’ve been in love._

**Lazy Cretin (12:04 am): doesnt sound like it ended well**

Well spotted, Snow.

Fuck.

He reminds me so much of Snow, I’m starting to confuse them in my thoughts.

This will not end well.

_BP (12:06 am): No, it did not._

**Lazy Cretin (12:04 am): why not**

So many reasons.

_Draft, unsent, BP (12:05 am): Because I chased him away because I thought he would have to kill me in a dramatic duel to the death (my life is a bad movie, I know) and I didn’t want it to be harder for him when he did. Because I would've died before I hurt him._

_Draft, unsent, BP (12:06 am): Because he was the sun and I worried if I got too close, I would plunge face-first into oblivion._

_Draft, unsent, BP (12:07 am): Because he would never want me._

_Draft, unsent, BP (12:08 am): Because I’m a literal monster._

_BP (12:10 am): I am answering this under the understanding that you will never ask again. I am also extremely tired, thanks to an ill-timed text from a wrong number in the middle of the night._

**Lazy Cretin (12:11 am): kk**

I struggle to find a sterilized version of my unrequited love for Simon goddamn Snow.

_BP (12:13 am): I never told him how I felt._

**Lazy Cretin (12:14 am): im srry**

**Lazy Cretin (12:14 am): telling ppl how u feel is hard**

**Lazy Cretin (12:15 am): im shit at it**

**Lazy Cretin (12:16 am): but if u ever have the chance, maybe you should yeah?**

**Lazy Cretin (12:17 am): cant miss the shots you dont take and all that**

There is a tight warmth near the edges of my eyes and I realize that I’m about to cry. I’m a fucking caricature.

_BP (12:19 am): Stop it with the useless platitudes._

**Lazy Cretin (12:20 am): whatever**

**Lazy Cretin (12:21 am): on a liter note**

**Lazy Cretin (12:22 am): i found the emjoi keyboard!!! did NOT know this was a thing**

**Lazy Cretin (12:23 am): its a whole new world!!!!!**

**Lazy Cretin (12:23 am): 🤷🤷🤷**

_BP (12:24 am): Did you just shrug at me?_

**Lazy Cretin (12:25 am): ;)**

_BP (12:26 am): I’m going to bed now._

I’ve created a monster.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waffles for days, Jane Austin, Charismo and perascones.   
> Dev stretches, Penny gives sage advice, and Baz validates the fuck out of some feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one. I thought about breaking it up (keeping an every-other-day posting schedule is especially gruelling when the chapters stretch to almost six thousand words!) but decided against it. As a result, there may be a day next week where I miss an upload. If/when this happens, forgive me. 
> 
> Just a quick note. The section of Dev's texts to Niall creep slightly above a teen rating (maybe???). You have been warned.

**Simon**

I wake up to the sun on my face and a kink in my neck. There’s a little bit of drool on my pillow and my phone is…

Dead.

Crowley, I think I fell asleep with it in my hand. Just in case sexy stranger decided to text.

_You’ve got it bad, Snow._

For once, Baz and I agree.

Now’s not the time to dwell on sexy strangers and ex roommates, though. It’s Saturday. Which means no work. Which means I have time to bake. And that means scones.

Which is basically my heaven on earth.

My life changed a lot after the humdrum. I don’t really like to say I defeated him—not when he was kinda me all along. It feels wrong. There’s the part of my life that was “before the humdrum” and then there the part that’s “after the humdrum.” When he was in the world and when he wasn’t. That’s the only way I can process it. It still kinda fucks me up, honestly. I never liked the idea of being the chosen one, but finding out that you are the villain too….

I had a lot of bad nights at first. Penny and I didn’t go back to Watford. We moved in together and just…existed until uni started that fall. I skipped a lot of showers and watched a lot of Doctor Who. I don’t remember much of that time honestly. Penny called it dissociating. I called it being fucked up.

I think we were both right, in the end.

But I do remember one specific night, a month or so after I gave the humdrum my magic (and after Ebb was murdered and I murdered the mage…yeah fuck, I still can’t really think too much about that). It was coming down outside, the rain pounding the roof and thunder so loud I could feel it in my chest.

Penny found me in the living room, curled up on the floor in a tight little ball, crying like the world was ending.

I guess, for me, it kinda was.

It was just too much. Too much to fucking feel. Too much to keep inside of one person. It was all just too much.

I don’t exactly remember what I said when she found me there. Something about how everyone thought I was the hero. And that it was all bullshit. Because I was actually the villain and, even with all the magic in the world, I didn’t manage to save anyone.

I _do_ remember what Penny said though. That memory is clear as fucking lightening, burnt into my brain. I remember the way her fingers felt as they dug into my shoulder, holding me like she was worried she’d lose me forever.

“No one wants to be the villain in their own story, Si. But the thing is, it’s not so simple as that. You can be the chosen one and a part of you can be the humdrum. And you can still be heroic and brave and my best friend in the whole damn world.”

Fuck. Thinking about it still cracks me open.

That was the lowest point, I think. There were a lot of low days back then, but I think that was rock bottom. And I say that, because it was the next day that I started to try and bake. I wanted scones. That’s all it was. Something simple that struck right to the heart of what I needed.

I needed a piece of home. 

I roll out of bed, throw on a pair of trackies, and start digging through the piles of dirty clothes on the floor. My charger has to be here somewhere…

“PEN YOU SEEN MY CHARGER?”

The apartment smells of coffee, so I know she’s awake.

“No!” Her voice, which is half a yell, wafts into my bedroom. “Even if I had, telling you would be enabling your addiction to internet troll!”

It’s too early to argue, so I growl something unintelligible and keep hunting. I’m not the most coordinated person in the world, and it’s worse right after I wake up (Penny calls me a baby elephant. I tell her I’m not a baby. She tells me I’m missing the point. It’s a whole thing). I eventually find the damn chord tangled in my headphones, underneath my work bag, next to a pair of (really smelly) trainers. I make a note to shove some dryer sheets in them.

“Are you hiding a body in there?”

Still too early to try and keep up with Penny. I plug my phone in and lumber out into the living room.

“I need to meet him.”

Penny looks up at me from underneath a blanket, book in one hand, pink highlighter in the other. “You don’t say? Also, put on a shirt.”

There are so many words scrambling to get out of me, her sarcasm barely registers.

“And brush your teeth before you come over here and breathe all over me.”

I ignore her. “You don’t understand. It’s not just that he’s sarcastic or smart or proper fit. He…” I struggle for words. “He just gets me!” I stomp over to the couch and flop down next to her.

She practically harrumphs as a pile of articles go tumbling off the sofa. “You can’t be sure he’s ‘proper fit.’”

“Oh, trust me. I’m sure.”

Penny smiles up at the ceiling, all toothy exasperation. “You’re an idiot.”

“No one talks that confident unless they’re handsome as fuck.” I feel very sure about this.

“He’s behind a phone! Anyone can be confident behind a phone. Have you read any comments section ever?”

I haven’t. Not really. And I feel my excitement deflating and I don’t like it. “I know you think it’s dumb—”

“More dangerous than dumb, but sure,” Penny says, but I can see her resolve starting to crack. I’ve made bad decisions before. She usually comes around.

_Your life is a series of bad decisions, Snow. You charge into everything and somehow continue to survive. You’re luckiest moron alive. A modern-day miracle._

“Right, so I’m trying to plan it. Figure out a way to trick him into meeting.”

“Okay wait—”

“Or maybe!” I say, tucking my feet under her blanket. She practically hisses at me. “I can figure out who he is somehow and surprise him at work…”

I pause, pulling a bit at my curls. They’re already a mess on top of my head, all fuzz and bedhead. 

Penny is looking over her glasses at me and I have the sudden urge to kick her off the sofa.

“Shitty thing is,” I say, just plowing forward cause she’s actually listening to me. “I don’t really know if he has a job…”

She has her head tilted slightly to the right, staring at me like I’m a poorly worded thesis statement that she wants to try to reorganize. “You know that you could just ask him—”

I wave my hand in front of her face. “Naw. I just need to dig a little more. I’ll figure him out. Then I’ll bring roses or some shit to his work.”

Penny’s eyebrows are up in her hair again. “Or some shit?”

I shrug. “Charm offensive, remember?”

“Of course. How could I forget? Cause you’re super experienced in the art of perfect dates and grand romantic gestures.” Penny shoves her book back in front of her face. Pretty sure she’s intentionally blocking my face. “Keep me posted on how that goes, would you?”

“Hey fuck you, I got this. I will find out my sexy stranger’s secret identity and then I will win him!”

She’s trying to hide it, but my toes are under her legs and I can feel Penny chuckling.

“Don’t laugh at me Pen, I’m being serious.”

She’s popped her highlighter in her mouth as she flips a page and muttered something that I can’t hear. “Itsfifthyearalloveragain.”

“What?”

She sighs and puts her book down on her knees. “This sounds like it could be just like fifth year, with a twist.”

_Oh yes, the year where you haunted my every step, watched my every move, danced in my fucking shadow. If I didn’t know you better, Snow, I’d say you were obsessed with me._

She must see the confusion on my face. “You kinda sound like you did when you were obsessed with Baz.”

Uhhhh… Penny can’t read minds, can she? Like, I know she can’t. Pretty sure…

I haven’t told her how much I think about him. About Baz. Does hearing the voice of your ex-archenemy count as an obsession?

…

......

I don’t want to think about this. So I don’t.

_Classic Snow._

“I’m gonna make some brekky. Want some?”

Penny perks up like a fucking bunny rabbit. “Please tell me you’re making waffles.”

A laugh tumbles out of me. “I am now?”

“I love you with all my life force—”

“IF,” I say, trying to make the word sound sharp, “you listen to me talk about sexy stranger.”

“Simon!”

“Just a little more!”

“You’d better make a double batch,” Penny grumbles from the sofa. “I’m gonna have to bring back my Baz ban.”

“Nooooooo,” I moan as I pull a mixing bowl from the cupboards. “Don’t mix sexy stranger with Baz. It’ll ruin him!”

“He kinda sounds a bit like Baz—”

“NO! Stop it Penny,” I say in my most whiney voice.

“What’d you say,” she says. “Smart. Sarcastic. Proper fit?”

“Penny—”

“Sounds a lot like Baz to me—”

“Penny, I swear, I’ll never make you waffles again.”

It’s an empty threat. I’d do anything for Penny. The weird thing is, she is sort of right about stranger and Baz. The way he writes, the way his words have a bite to them, the way I imagine him in my head…

But sexy stranger doesn’t mean it to hurt me. Baz always did. It’s kind of a key difference.

_Always the lowest blow, Snow. It’s what we did. It’s how we lived._

Funny thing is, I don’t wanna live that way anymore. If I could go back and change things (how stuff went with Baz and me), I actually might.

Fuck. My head is starting to hurt. I’m overthinking this. Stranger’s not Baz and thank fuck for that, cause I don’t know what I’d do if he were.

“Fi-ine, I’ll stop. But you’d better be making a double batch Simon. I want waffles for days.”

“Whatever,” I mumble, still a little zoned out from thinking too much, as I pull the milk and eggs from the fridge. “So can we talk about how I need to meet him now?”

“Just tell him!!”

I mean…I guess I could message him and just…I dunno…ask? Worst case scenario, he makes fun of me. And he already does that a lot.

As my hands scrape the back of the cupboard for the baking powder, I feel my brain decide to do it. Stop overthinking and act.

Just do it.

To fucking swoosh.

But first, waffles. My stomach has always come first. Before humdrums and roommates and girlfriends and potential boyfriends—and that’s never gonna change.

The floor of the living room looks like a war zone—if the war was fought with breakfast food and stationery. We don’t really have a table, so we usually end up on the floor, huddled around the coffee table to eat and study and fall asleep watching tv. There are plates of syrup and waffles and scone crumbs everywhere.

“I’m gonna do it.”

“YES SIMON!” Penny shouts, slapping me on the back as I bend over my phone to scrawl out the message.

**Simon (10:46 am): I wanna meat you**

“I did it!” I’m practically squealing. My nerves are electric.

_Sexy Stranger (10:52 am): …_

_Sexy Stranger (10:53 am): Wow. That’s a tad forward, even for you. I thought you’d at least offer to buy me dinner first._

**Simon (10:53 am): wait wat?**

_Sexy Stranger (10:54 am): *meet, as in connect, come together, “hello, how do you do” and all that._

_Sexy Stranger (10:55 am): rather than *meat, as in…well…_

_Sexy Stranger (10:55 am): Christ._

_Sexy Stranger (10:55 am): That mistake is uniquely bad._

“PENNY!”

“Great snakes,” Penny practically yelps. I suppose I was right next to her ear.

“It’s over! I ruined everything.”

If eyerolling were ever a professional sport, Penny would rule the world. To her credit, she reaches over my shoulder and grabs my phone (22% battery) (I couldn’t wait until it was fully charged to talk to him) (Sue me).

“He’s gonna think I’m a creep! He’s gonna stop talking to me.”

Penny peers down at the screen and then bursts into a full blown cackle. Sometimes, I think she’s evil.

“DON’T JUST SIT THERE AND LAUGH HELP ME FIX IT.”

There go her eyebrows again. “What happened to the charm offensive? I thought you were going to woo him. Dazzle him with machismo and pheromones.”

“Shhhhh,” I say, yanking my phone back and starting to type furiously. “You’re not very helpful, you know that?”

Penny shrugs. “Never claimed to be your wing woman. Now go get him with your man meat.”

“SHUT UP!”

**Simon (10:57 am): fuck im sry soso sry pls dont blokc me stragner u know i fuck up grammer im sooooorrrrrryyyyyyyyyyyyy**

I don’t proofread or edit or think about the words as they pop up on the screen. I just type and send.

Texting has kinda helped me bridge the gap between the words that used to get all tangled up in my tongue and actual communication. If this guy were standing in front of me, I probably would’ve just sputtered and flailed around, and probably wouldn’t have gotten a single word out.

_You bellow like a hippopotamus who has run a marathon, Snow. You bluster like no one else._

_Sexy Stranger (10:59 am): Breathe, cretin. If I was going to block you based solely on your pitiful grammar and atrocious text slang, I would’ve done it after your first message._

_Sexy Stranger (11:01 am): Although I’m beginning to think that I should start a catalogue. A hall of fame, if you will, for your more impressive bastardizations of the English language._

**Simon (11:02 am): right**

**Simon (11:02 am): i mean…yeah**

_Sexy Stranger (11:03 am): Eloquent as ever._

“Fixed it!” I whoop, throwing my hands in the air and waving my phone like it’s a fucking flag.

“Cool story,” Penny says, stretching and cracking her back. “How’d you manage that?”

What did she say earlier? “Charismo and pearascones”

She pats the top of my curls. “Of course. Every single man’s secret weapon.”

“Are you making fun of me?” I’m sprawled across the floor now, but my pillow would make an excellent weapon.

“What do you think?”

“I think he’s gonna agree to meet me.”

**Simon (11:06 am): but i meant what i said**

**Simon (11:06 am): well mostly**

**Simon (11:07 am): i wanna MEET u**

“Penny, he’s typing.” Those three little dots should be fucking illegal. They are a special kind of torture. I wish I could squish them with my fingers.

“He stopped typing!”

“Are you really giving me this play by play?”

“Shhhh, he’s typing again!”

_Sexy Stranger (11:09 am): I think that can be arranged._

I don’t mean to do it. Sometimes my emotions can’t be contained. It’s like the new version of me going off.

I flip the coffee table.

**Baz**

Kill me now. Set me on fire and send up a prayer. Bury me in a dark place and throw away the key.

_You don’t belong in a coffin or a dark place, Baz. You’re not a monster._

My Snow memory ghost doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’ve agreed to meet my lazy cretin. This is an unmitigated disaster of absolutely epic proportions.

_Okay, now you’re being dramatic._

It’s going to ruin everything. This was supposed to be a distraction. Fun, yes. Entertaining, at times. Something I’ve started to look forward to every time I pick up my phone…maybe. But that was all it was supposed to be.

Now it is going to cross over into the real world like a monster emerging from a hell dimension. It’s going to be different and awkward. Merlin and Morgana, I’m going to have to make small talk with him. 

Why did I type that?

And then send it?

**Lazy Cretin (11:13 am): deadly**

…

“I didn’t come over to watch you text some bloke,” Dev says, scowling at me from across the island. We’re in _my_ kitchen. He has no right to look so offended.

I look down at my phone.

**Lazy Cretin (2:55 pm): so u want to teach at uni?**

The messages have been practically non-stop since I woke up. And I find I don’t mind at all.

This question will require an attentive response. I look up at my cousin, who’s already halfway to a hangover and looks like he came over in yesterday’s clothes. I sigh and lay my phone face down. “Then why are you here?”

“Nice Baz. Real Nice.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to pretend it’s not taking all of my energy to stay present. Since he arrived (unannounced), Dev’s consumed half a bottle of wine and eaten two bags of crisps. Friendship really isn’t worth all this trouble.

I refill his wineglass. “Okay. Tell me what happened?”

Dev groans and covers his face in his hands. “It was just a stupid text.”

I try not to roll my eyes. I really do. “Knowing Niall, it wasn’t _just_ a stupid text.”

Dev looks up from between his fingers and manages to glower at me. “You always take his side, you know that? Ever since we started going out. We’re,” he gestures between the two of us, and his wine sloshes dangerously around the glass, “supposed to be family!”

“Only when you force yourself on me.”

“Oh fuck you. It’s not my fault that he left his phone on—

“Oh no—”

“—in a fancy lawyer meeting.”

I see where this is going. I know Dev and I know the way that he texts _me._ And I’m family. Niall is his boyfriend.

“And that the client happened to look down at just the wrong moment.”

Merlin and Morganan. “What did you send?”

At least the idiot has the decency to blush.

“Well. It started kinda fine.”

“What do you mean star—”

“I sent a few messages.”

“Of course you did.”

“So, the first one was just, ‘thinking about your dick.’”

“Dev!”

“What! I was.”

I suddenly realize I don’t want to know what the next messages were. I’ll admit, at first it was nice not to be the only queer Grimm in the family. Having your two best mates date is weird, but I managed.

Now though, I think I’m about to find out details that I will never be able to unlearn. And I’m not ready.

But it’s too late. The stubborn idiot has started his story and he won’t stop until he sees it through.

“Anyways, I was feeling heated—”

“—I really don’t need to know—”

“—and so I said ‘when you get home, I’m gonna suck you dry.’”

I close my eyes, as if that will help remove the image that is now burned into my brain.

“Poor Niall.”

“Oh, that’s not the bad part yet.”

“How does this story get worse?”

Dev shoves his phone across the table and throws his head in his arms.

“Just look,” he mumbles.

** Dev (4:06 pm): im all stretched and rdy for u **

Aleister fucking crowley.

“I may have sent a pic.”

I make a conscious effort not to scroll down. I cannot see my cousin’s—yeah, I just can’t.

“Please tell me that photos don’t preview on his phone’s home screen!”

“The fuck if I know!”

Dev has collapsed onto my counter, his wine glass empty again. “All I know is that he was in a big lawyer-ee meeting and that they saw something when his phone went off. And Niall hasn’t talked to me since Friday and I’m freaking out.” His shoulders are slumped and the side of his face is pressed into the granite countertop.

“That sounds like the logical reaction to Friday’s events,” I say, trying to sound sympathetic. I am really trying.

“Fuck off, Baz.”

“I mean,” I take a breath, trying to figure out what I’m supposed to say. “Maybe you need to discuss boundaries?”

“He’s my fucking boyfriend. No! We don’t need to have fucking boundaries.”

I’ve never been the comforting type. Sympathy isn’t my best quality and so the current situation feels distinctly out of my realm of expertise.

I need back up. A pinch hitter. Fuck sports metaphors. I need help.

_BP (3:09 pm): So, you’re a social worker. You’re good at comforting people, yes?_

**Lazy Cretin (3:09 pm): uh i guess?**

_BP (3:09 pm): So, I have a friend in my flat, wallowing in self-pity after a particularly gruesome fuck up with his boyfriend. What should I do?_

**Lazy Cretin (3:10 pm): i dont know the bloke or what happnd**

_BP (3: 10): Fine. I knew it was pointless to ask. Whatever._

**Lazy Cretin (3: 10): jeeeez hold on. i was typing out adviec. try validating his feelinsg. that usually works**

_BP (3:10 pm): …_

_BP (3:10 pm): Explain._

**Lazy Cretin (3:11 pm): well even if u dont agree with how somone is feeling, that doesnt mean the feelings theyre having arent real to them u know?**

_BP (3:11 pm): What do you expect me to do with that (wildly inaccurate and completely unhelpful) information?_

**Lazy Cretin (3:12 pm): u tell him that what hes feeling makes sense or that its normal to be uspet or embaased or whatever**

_BP (3:12 pm): That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Hang on._

“Dev,” I say to the rumbling mass sprawled across my countertop. “It’s…uh…normal to feel upset. And maybe a bit embarrassed.”

He doesn’t stir. Doesn’t say anything. What a stupid idea—

_Draft unsent, BP (3:14 pm): I can’t believe you studied for five years and all they taught you was some pseudo-science bullsh—_

“—I’m just…I don’t wanna lose him, you know?” My eyes widen as he sits up and tries to smile at me. It’s such a sad fucking smile.

Oh Crowley. What did cretin say? Validate. “He’s entirely too good for you.” Dev flinches. Shit. Course correct. Why is this so hard? “So, uh, that makes sense. You not wanting to lose a good thing.” I don’t think I’ve ever stuttered so much in one sitting.

“Thanks man.” He’s sniffling a bit. The wine might finally be hitting him.

Cretin said to make him feel normal. Okay. Right. “Those feelings are a normal reaction to a very stressful situation.”

Dev’s eyebrows knit together as he mulls over what I’ve just said. “Yeah?”

The fuck if I know. “Yes,” I say.

“D’you…mind if I stay here for a bit?”

“I—”

“Awesome,” he says, grabbing what’s left of the wine and wandering over to my sofa. “You don’t have anything stronger do you?” he calls from the corner of the couch.

“No,” I snap, watching him drink my two-hundred-and-fifty dollar cabernet from the fucking bottle.

Well, that was…unexpected. 

_BP (3:16 pm): Okay stranger. I’m not one to deny credit where credit is due. That worked brilliantly._

**Lazy Cretin (3:17 pm): :D**

**Lazy Cretin (3: 17 pm): u validate teh fuck out of those feelings????**

_BP (3:17 pm): I...I guess I did._

_BP (3:17 pm): R_ _emind me. What did you want to know before my idiot cousin started blubbering?_

We’ve been texting all day. It’s hard to remember where one conversation started and another ended.

**Lazy Cretin (3:18 pm): u being a posh prof and wanting to teach uni**

**Lazy Cretin (3:18 pm): is that like…the dream?**

These questions are creeping closer and closer to intimate and I’m not sure if I’m furious or terrified. Maybe neither. Maybe both.

But my messages are much too light on sarcasm and far too heavy on genuine and the whole exercise is making me nauseous.

And I can’t stop.

_BP (3:20 pm): I want to engage in a dialog with a community of thinkers who are deeply engaged in the texts I feel passionately about. No one has ever loved reading like I do. I want to find those people._

_BP (3:21 pm): I want to situate a writer in their time, to consider the social and political forces that acted on their minds and their bodies, and use this context see a story like it’s new. Almost like I am getting to read a book I love again for the first time._

**Lazy Cretin (3:21 pm): thats sorta beatuifl stranger**

But I’m not done. The honesty is rushing out of me. Like I need to give this strange man everything there is to know about me until there’s nothing left.

_BP (3:22 pm): But sometimes, I just want to dissect new readings of a text that is hundreds of years old. Are Jane Austin’s romantic novels really about the Toronto Raptors unexpected playoff run to a championship victory? Maybe._

_BP (3:23 pm): And yes. Occasionally, I want to share my knowledge of such things with new minds that are willing to do the work._

**Lazy Cretin (3:24 pm): wait wait wiat**

**Lazy Cretin (3:24 pm): jane austins not about basketball**

_BP (3:25 pm): And why not, my cretin?_

**Lazy Cretin (3:26 pm): yeah i am**

**Lazy Cretin (3:26 pm): your cretin i mean**

**Lazy Cretin (3:26 pm): fuck that sounded wireder than it did in my head**

**Lazy Cretin (3:26 pm): whatever**

_BP (3:27 pm): You’re overthinking it, cretin._

He’s not.

**Lazy Cretin (3:27 pm): jane austen cant be about basketball cause she wrote like a thosand years ago**

_BP (3:28 pm): She wrote in the early 1800s, but I suppose I should be grateful you’ve heard of her at all. Please continue._

**Lazy Cretin (3:28 pm): condecending twat**

_BP (3:29 pm): *condescending_

**Lazy Cretin (3:29 pm): whatever hang on i still dont get it**

**Lazy Cretin (3:30 pm): basketball wasnt even a thing!!!!**

**Lazy Cretin (3:30 pm): how could her books be about somthing that didnt even exist?????**

_BP (3:31 pm): You know that literary meaning doesn’t always have to stem from authorial intent?_

**Lazy Cretin (3:32 pm): english pls**

_BP (3:32 pm): How do I say this in a way your tiny brain can understand?_

**Lazy Cretin (3:33 pm): c o n d e s c e n d i n g t w a t**

_BP (3:35 pm): The meaning of a book isn’t always about what the author meant it to be._

_BP (3:35 pm): What the reader sees when they look at a text can mean something to them. And that meaning can matter just as much._

**Lazy Cretin (3:36 pm): so it doesnt matter if the books came out 500 yrs ago**

_BP (3:36 pm): Early 1800s, but yes._

**Lazy Cretin (3:37 pm): we get to read them and what they mean to us matters to**

_BP (3:37 pm): *too_

_BP (3:37 pm): That’s the general idea, yes._

**Lazy Cretin (3:38 pm): but but but how do u knwo whos right?**

_BP (3:38 pm): You don’t._

**Lazy Cretin (3:39 pm): that’s**

**Lazy Cretin (3:39 pm): …**

**Lazy Cretin (3:39 pm): its nice.**

**Lazy Cretin (3:39 pm): u get to decide wat things mean. tell the story that matters to u**

**Lazy Cretin (3:40 pm): sort of equal oportunty reading**

_BP (3:40 pm): That is actually a very good interpretation of the concept, cretin. Colour me impressed._

_BP (3:42 pm): Where one person may see a story of forbidden romance and a vampire hopelessly in love with someone he can never have, the other may see an action-adventure with that same evil vampire preying on a beautiful teenager. Different readings of the same story._

**Lazy Cretin (3:27): ru talking about twilite?**

I don’t like how closely my affection for Snow maps onto the plot of Twilight. I do not like this at all.

I’m much better looking than Edwards Cullen. And that fucker got his happy ending. All I got was unrequited pining and a lifetime of crushing disappointment.

_BP (3:25 pm): Something like that._

**Simon**

I never thought I’d be getting emotional over literary theory, but something about it is hitting me hard. Like a fucking brick on my chest.

_You’re growing, Snow. Learning new things. Embrace the pain. You may never feel it again._

**Draft, unsent, Simon (3:28 pm): i wish i could stop thinking about my story like i do… i wish i could see what happened differently. i feel like a failulr all the fucking time and i think i know its not true but fuck man**

**Draft, unsent, Simon (3:28 pm): i dont wanna be a messed up kid who fucked up when it mattred most and then had to see ppl i lovd die**

**Draft, unsent, Simon (3:28 pm): i dont wanna feel like the worst chosen one ever chosen. i wanna pretend that ive always just been a normal and the world didnt need me to be anything**

**Draft, unsent, Simon (3:28 pm): i think u know wat i mean, lovely stranger. i thnk if i asked u that youd understand**

But I can’t send any of that. It’s too heavy. Too much. I’m always too much.

But I want to. And maybe that’s a start.

Fuck.

I need to meet him.

**Baz**

**Lazy Cretin (3:28 pm): so watcha doin tomorrow?**

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

He’s going to ask me to do something. I am not ready for this.

_BP (3:31 pm): Nothing important. Just using my secret super strength and immortality to better humanity. Patrolling the streets, looking for perpetrators of petty crime and bringing them to justice. That sort of thing._

If pigeons count as perpetrators of petty crime and my draining them dry counts as bringing them to justice. (I’m out of blood and the butcher I frequent is closed on Sundays.)

_BP (3:32 pm): I’m the Dark Knight of London._

**Lazy Cretin (3:32 pm): rlly?!?**

_BP (3:32 pm): No._

**Lazy Cretin (3:33 pm): sooooooooo**

**Lazy Cretin (3:33 pm): ur not busy then?**

I’m not sure if that was meant to be a distraction or a nervous attempt at comedy, but he still wants to see me (tomorrow) and I may be having a panic attack.

_BP (3:34 pm): I have a paper to draft, several supplementary articles to go over for class, and I’d like to work on my thesis proposal._

**Lazy Cretin (3:35 pm): would u maybe wanna break?**

**Lazy Cretin (3:35 pm): we could get coffee**

Yes. No. Why are you so persistent? My chest is tight and I’m runout out of excuses.

_BP (3:36 pm): Are you asking me out on a date?_

**Lazy Cretin (3:37 pm): if you want it to be**

Yes. This is definitely a panic attack. I can’t breathe.

_BP (3:37 pm): Tomorrow?_

**Lazy Cretin (3:37 pm): uh yeah**

**Lazy Cretin (3:38 pm): u know**

**Lazy Cretin (3:38 pm): we talked about meeting**

**Lazy Cretin (3:38 pm): soooooooo**

**Lazy Cretin (3:38 pm): why not just do it?**

**Lazy Cretin (3:38 pm): u know?**

**Lazy Cretin (3:39 pm): i mean we dont have to**

**Lazy Cretin (3:39 pm): its totly fine**

**Lazy Cretin (3:39 pm): cool i mean**

**Lazy Cretin (3:39 pm): whatevr**

Something about his tsunami of texts reminds me that he is probably just as nervous as I am. And that is what does it—settles my nerves enough that I can try to think clearly and type out the only answer that makes sense.

_BP (3:40 pm): Stranger?_

**Lazy Cretin (3:40 pm): yeah**

_BP (3:41 pm): I would be delighted._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niall's is a mess, the walls are coming down, and "he was so fit, it's criminal".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of softness before they meet (NEXT CHAPTER and I double posted because I could not wait because I'm weak).

**Baz**

I’m pouring over a copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s short stories when I hear fingers wrapping against my door. I sigh and try to blink away the irritation that is rising in my chest.

They’re my friends. My only friends. They picked me up after the mage died and the humdrum was defeated and there was a Snow shaped hole in my chest. I can tolerate their relationship squabbles.

I can do this.

I open the door and see a freakishly tall red head standing in front of me. “Took you long enough,” I say, swinging the door wide to let him in.

Niall’s grown up a lot in the last few years. Especially since he got into law school. You mostly see it in his shoulders: he stands taller, looks sturdier, and there’s a confidence that wasn’t there before. More sureness and a lot less fear.

He’s the only one who knows about Snow, and it was not a confession I offered up easily or on purpose.

It was in the early days of our first year at uni. We were both learning how to handle out liquor (that learning curve was steep, as I was about to discover). The night in question took place after one particularly brutal stint at a pub off campus. Everything was fine until I spotted the bloke with the golden curls. He’d been square like Snow, around the same height. If I squinted, I could pretend his dusting of freckles matched Snow’s constellations of moles.

It was like a jolt of electricity ripped through me. My heart was pounding in my ears. And Niall, being the observant fuck that he usually is, noticed.

I remember him asking me if I was okay. I remember lying. I remember deciding that we should have a shot, and then I remember having several more. I don’t remember Niall dragging me back to his dorm room, but (allegedly) I was a wobbly mess the whole way.

The idiot was concerned about me—at least, that’s what he says—and the probing fuck started asking questions. And I started answering them.

The rest is a blurry mess in my memory.

“Was it the bloke with the curls?”

“Why him?”

“Snow!?!?!?!”

“Oh Baz. You gotta move on.”

And so, I did. Well, I tried.

I (slowly, grudgingly) started to date. Usually blokes with some combination of golden hair and freckles. But progress is progress.

Maybe we’ve all grown up a lot.

Dev lets out a colossal snort in his sleep.

Well, maybe not all of us.

Niall is looking over at the sleeping lump, and there’s something that’s both fond and pained etching lines into his face.

“You should take him home,” I say. “And you’ll need to replace the two bottles of red he guzzled at some point.”

“How was he?” Niall asks.

I shake my head. “He’s been a blubbering mess all afternoon.”

Niall leans into the edge of the counter. He looks ready to drop. “I shoulda texted him. Or answered his calls.” His face looks like wet newspaper. “But I was so mad, Baz.”

He runs a hand across his face—there’s a five-o’clock-shadow on his chin that I’ve never seen there before. It suddenly occurs to me that maybe Dev wasn’t the only one in crisis this weekend. 

“He told me,” I say. “And while I will never be the same—

“—oh fuck he showed you!—”

“—that’s just who Dev is. You knew that. You’ve known that since our first year at Watford.”

Niall’s cheeks match his hair. You could probably cook an egg on his forehead.

“Have you tried dating Dev? It’s not as easy as all that!” Niall looks like he wants to scream, looks like he has enough pent up emotion to fill a stadium. But he keeps his voice low. Probably trying to let Dev sleep.

Considerate prat.

I remind myself to take him out for a drink sometime, maybe to buy him a shot or two, and let him spill his feelings the way he once let me spill mine.

“Suggestions of incest are a crude sort of humour Niall. I expected better from you.” He opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. “Now c’mon. Let’s get your idiot boyfriend off my couch and into your car.”

…

**Lazy Cretin (10:37 pm): hey ive got an idea**

_BP (10:42 pm): It’s a miracle! Contact the Vatican. We need to record this day for future generations._

**Lazy Cretin (10:42 pm): twat**

**Lazy Cretin (10:43 pm): srsly tho u dont like stupid first date questoins yeah?**

_BP (10:44 pm): I do not._

**Lazy Cretin (10:44 pm): so lets get em out of the way now**

_BP (10:45 pm): I don’t see how that addresses my hatred of these questions._

**Lazy Cretin (10:45 pm): i wanna know**

**Lazy Cretin (10:46 pm): and i dont wanna annoy u…dont wanna fuck it all up u know?**

_BP (10:46 pm): So, you’ve chosen to be annoying now?_

**Lazy Cretin (10:47 pm): 🤷**

_BP (10:48 pm): Okay._

**Lazy Cretin (10:48 pm): yeah!**

_BP (10:49 pm): Yes._

**Lazy Cretin (10:49 pm): fav colour?**

I usually answer green, but all I can see is a pair of eyes staring at me above a chin that’s ready for a fight.

BP (10:50 pm): _Blue. Simple. Plain. Just blue._

**Lazy Cretin (10:50 pm): wats your type**

_BP (10:51 pm): In men?_

**Lazy Cretin (10:51 pm): duh**

_BP (10:52 pm): Idiots with terrible grammar. You?_

**Lazy Cretin (10:52 pm): aw stranger thats the nicest thing youve ever said to me!!!!!!**

_BP (10:53 pm): A happy accident. Treasure it, cretin._

**Lazy Cretin (10:54 pm): i dunno if i have a type. kinda liek tall blokes tho**

**Lazy Cretin (10:54 pm): with dark hair.**

**Lazy Cretin (10:54 pm): maybe a bit on the logner side**

I try to bite back a smile. Well, that’s a happy coincidence. Maybe meeting him won’t be so bad.

_BP (10:55 pm): That’s a fairly specific collection of traits._

**Lazy Cretin (10:55 pm): 🤯 😬 😓**

I will regret the day found cretin found the emoji keyboard until the end of time.

**Lazy Cretin (10:56 pm): family?**

_BP (10:57 pm): Four siblings, a conservative father, one stepmom, an aunt about to hit her midlife crisis, and a partridge in a fucking pear tree._

**Lazy Cretin (10:58 pm): what happened to your mom?**

_BP (11:01 pm): She died._

**Lazy Cretin (11:02 pm): Fuck, I’m sorry.**

It’s cute, how he tries to write properly when he feels badly. It’s cute when he fumbles through basic sentences. Everything about this stranger is cute and I hate it.

_BP (11:03 pm): It’s alright. It happened a long time ago._

**Lazy Cretin (11:04 pm): i bet she was bloody birlliant**

**Lazy Cretin (11: 04 pm): i mean, if she was aynthing like you**

_BP (11:05 pm): She really was._

_BP (11:05 pm): Okay, my turn._

**Lazy Cretin (11:06 pm): see!!!!!!!**

**Lazy Cretin (11:06 pm): its not so bad getting to know eahc other**

_BP (11:07 pm): Yes yes, you had one good idea. Now hush. I’m thinking._

**Simon**

It’s almost like after the first really serious question, he’s given me permission to ask him about personal things. He’s answering me in a way he’s never done before. The walls are coming down a bit and I find myself wanting them to stay that way.

It’s like we’ve found a fragile place where we can be honest and real and vulnerable. And I’m afraid I’m gonna break it. Baby elephant and all that.

_Sexy Stranger (11:08 pm): How did you know you liked men?_

**Simon (11:09 pm): thats kinda hard to answer**

**Simon (11:09 pm): didnt realiez for a long time**

**Simon (11:10 pm): dated a girl for years**

**Simon (11:10 pm): and like, i think i loved her but i dunno maybe i loved the idea of her**

**Simon (11:11 pm): i jsut wanted things to be easy an dsimple**

**Simon (11:11 pm): its dumb but like, having soemone want me**

**Simon (11:12 pm): even if she only wnated me sometimes at first and then rlly not at all**

**Simon (11:12 pm): it was nice**

**Simon (11:12 pm): now i look back and feel so fucking stupid tho**

The words are just pouring out of me and I know that I’m being too much (I’m always too much), but I can’t help it.

Sexy Stranger (11:13 pm): _You’re not stupid, cretin. You’re human._

I curl up under my blankets and hug my phone to my chest.

**Simon (11:14 pm): i used to rant about this one bloke**

**Simon (11:14 pm): my roommate actaully**

**Simon (11:14 pm): like i talked about him constantly wouldnt shut up**

**Simon (11:15 pm): it got so bad my best freind used to have quotas of how much i could talk abuot him**

**Simon (11:15 pm): she thinks he the first guy i was into**

**Simon (11:15 pm): and u know, she might be right**

**Simon (11:16 pm): he was so fit. its fuckign criminal**

_Sexy Stranger (11:16 pm): What happened?_

**Simon (11:17 pm): 🤷**

**Simon (11:17 pm): dunno**

**Draft, unsent, Simon (11:18 pm): sometimes i think about him and i imagine that he talks to me. its fuckd up but i think I miss how fucking ruthless he was and i rlly want to just make sure he made it through and is okay. but i dont even know how id find him and it would be ike starting over and i dont know if we know how**

_Yes Snow. Send a message about how you’re still pining over your ex-roommate. That’s bound to win him over._

Fuck.

**Baz**

I want to give him something, want to reach through the screen and close the distance. Ride the fucking radio waves from here to wherever he is in London and tell him that I know exactly what he means. That I loved my roommate (although he probably meant someone in college) (not everyone goes to a private boarding school for wizards). I know exactly how confusing that experience can be.

_BP (11:19 pm): Do you remember that bloke I told you about?_

**Lazy Cretin (11:19 pm): yeah**

_BP (11:21 pm): We went to school together. He hated me, cretin. He hated me so much. It was my fault at first. But by the time I figured things out, it was too late._

**Lazy Cretin (11:22 pm): sounds like a proper idoit**

**Lazy Cretin (11:22 pm): i cant imagin hating u**

This man will be the end of me.

_BP (11:23 pm): You haven’t met me yet._

**Lazy Cretin (11:23 pm): doesnt matter**

**Lazy Cretin (11:24 pm): whats ur name?**

_Draft, unsent, BB (11:24): Baz._

My fingers hover over send. I’m not sure why this is the one question tonight that I am struggling to answer. Would it be so bad if he knew my name?

_BP (11:26): Can we leave that one? I know it sounds strange, cretin, but I’d like to meet you properly._

**Lazy Cretin (11:27 pm): wat do u mean?**

_BP (11:28): I want to walk up to you, put out my hand, and introduce myself._

_BP (11:28): A proper beginning. Like we’re starting something new. Like we’re just two normal people going for a regular first date. Is that alright?_

My heart is pounding.

**Lazy Cretin (11:29 pm): course it is**

**Lazy Cretin (11:29 pm): so i was thinkign baked expectations at like 2? its a desert palce close to wher ei live**

**Lazy Cretin (11:30 pm): hang on ill send the address**

_BP (11:31 pm): It’s alright. I know the place. I’m surprised, cretin. I’ve heard that the food’s rather good there._

I don’t mention my feelings on puns (horrifying. Always). Or my thoughts on Charles Dickins (overrated). He is probably trying to be sweet and I find that that is all I really care about.

**Lazy Cretin (11:32 pm): the only hting is, without a name how am i gonna know who ur?**

_BP (11:33 pm): I’ll be in a green shirt._

I may have picked out my outfit earlier this afternoon, while Dev was deep in a wine-induced coma on my sofa, snoring up a symphony.

**Lazy Cretin (11:34 pm): thats all your giving me!!**

_BP (11:34 pm): I’m fairly tall. Dark hair._

**Lazy Cretin (11:35 pm): no fucking way!**

**Lazy Cretin (11:35 pm): ru fucking with me????**

_BP (11:63 pm): No._

**Lazy Cretin (11:36 pm): i fucking knwe it!!!!!!!!!!**

If this is flirting, it feels a too…excited? Forceful? I don’t know how to handle his enthusiasm or his ridiculous exclamation marks.

_BP (11:37 pm): ;)_


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cinnamon tortes, awkward handshakes, and Baz in jeans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I double posted today, because apparently as soon as I get a few days ahead of my posting schedule, the masochistic part of my writer brain turns on and sabotages all of my good intentions. But I couldn't wait.
> 
> I've been daydreaming about this scene all week and now that it's finally here, I feel strange letting it go. 
> 
> Please please please tell me what you think :D

**Simon**

I’ve decapitated goblins, I’ve stared down a dragon, I once stood between Penny and her (acceptance) letters to grad schools. But I swear to god, I would take all of those things on at once if someone would just tell me what to wear.

This is a proper date. He asked. I made it crystal fucking clear.

I think I’ve reread those last few messages a hundred times. It’s a date. In the middle of the day. At a dessert place. And I’m not thinking about the menu. (I SHOULD be thinking about the menu) (I haven’t thought about the menu all morning) (Any other day, I’d be dreaming about the menu!) But I can’t because I’m in full down melt down mode.

I don’t wanna wear anything too fancy. And I can’t wear white, cause I’ll get food all over it.

_Still can’t dress yourself, Snow?_

Apparently not when it counts.

And Penny is out with her mom for the day and I can’t believe she left me alone at such an important moment. And every piece of clothing I own is on the floor and I’m not sure what’s clean or dirty and…

…and it’s 1:32 pm.

I’m so fucked.

**Baz**

There’s an anxious flush of feelings coursing through me as I walk towards the dessert cafe. It’s like adrenaline mixed with jet fuel and I feel like my whole body is about to combust. I’m on time (well no) (I got here 20 minutes early and I walked around the block to blow off some steam) (It didn’t work). I can’t wait any longer. I need something to break this tension thrumming inside of me before I self-immolate. 

I step out of the chilly afternoon and into Baked Expectations.

“For how many?”

“Two.” My voice is curt, sharpened by stress.

I pull my phone from my pocket and send a quick

_BP (2:01 pm): Here._

The waitress walks me over to a small table in the back of the café and leaves me with two menus. I’m barely paying attention, but through my fugue state, I notice that it’s actually quite cute.

Pastel colours pepper the place. The booths are lined in pale greens and blues, and the wooden chairs are painted a muted pink. There’s a warm glow filtering in through the giant glass windows and the dessert options make me wish that Snow were here; he would absolutely melt.

Glass display cases show off stacked cinnamon tortes, chocolate chip cookie dough cheesecake, rich red velvet, key lime pie with a coconut crust. Snow would slobber all over the glass. He would demand to a slice of every option. He would inhale everything in sight. 

The thought makes me smile.

_You’ve always known me, Baz. Known me better than anyone._

**Simon**

My pocket buzzed ten minutes ago, but there’s no time to check it. Because I’m running.

And I can’t slow down.

I know I’ll look a right state when I get there, but I’m not worried about that right now. Right now, I just need to get there. The idea of messing this up, of making him wait for me and leaving him alone, wondering if I’m gonna show…well that sets my nerves on fire.

I run faster.

**Baz**

This is the longest he’s gone between messages. For a moment (for one awful moment) I wonder if he’s decided to bail. That this whole thing was just too strange. Or maybe he saw me and decided to leave. Maybe—

I hear footsteps coming up behind me. My neck is frozen in place. Whoever they are, they’re breathing like they’ve run a marathon. Like Snow used to when he’d chase me through the catacombs, or pin me against the wall of our room, or tumble with me down the stairs. I feel the hairs on the back of neck stand up. He’s still there, catching his breath. Probably doesn’t think I can hear him (vampire hearing). Crowley, I think my dead heart is having a seizure. I want to turn around, but I’m paralyzed. I’ve never been the brave. Not like Simon

_You looked pretty brave when you spelled a whole damn nursery rhyme at that dragon._

“Uh, hi?”

At first, I think it’s just my fucked up subconscious trying to sabotage any chance at real happiness. Taking my deepest desire and playing tricks on me. But I swear, the voice behind me sounded just like Snow.

Until I turn around.

And there he is. A cut-out fantasy in the flesh. He’s wearing a brown leather jacket over a grey hoodie and faded jeans. The sides of his head still shaved and a mop of perfect curls on flops on the top of his head. He looks a bit sharper—his face lost some of its roundness and his eyes look…older somehow. Mature.

But they’re the same moles. The same freckles. The same plain blue eyes.

And they’re staring straight at me.

**Simon**

Baz. Baz in green. Baz looking up at me. Baz is okay. Baz is real. Baz is _here_.

Why is Baz here?

Any why is he wearing green?

“You’re in green. And…” My eyes move over him and he practically flinches. “Baz, you’re wearing jeans.”

He narrows his eyes at me.

He’s in green. He’s tall with dark hair. Oh god. Oh no.

Everything is crashing down. I feel the words crowding my mouth, all trying to get out at once. Panic has created an echo chamber in my head and I think I’m going to throw up.

“Well spotted, Snow. What are you doing here?”

I could leave now. Just write it off as a chance encounter. I love desserts. He would buy it and I could run and pretend that Baz didn’t show up at my dessert café at the exact right time wearing a green shirt.

The words are almost out of my mouth.

_You’d really stand me up, Snow? Leave me waiting for someone who will never show?_

There’s too many thoughts and not enough space in my fucking head.

“Can I sit down?”

“Absolutely not—”

“Please?”

Something pained crosses his face. “Alright. But stop breathing like that. You sound like a rhinoceros.”

**Baz**

For the first time in my life, I wish I was an idiot. I wish I could pretend that Simon bloody Snow huffing into a dessert café and walking up to the only dark-haired guy in the green shirt was a fucking mistake. After five years of nothing, there is no way that Simon Snow accidentally texts my mobile. It has to be a coincidence.

But I know it’s not.

It’s been Simon. It was Simon all along.

I am as close to laughter as I am to tears and it’s a public place in the middle of the afternoon. The universe has a cruel sense of humour.

I am going to have to sit with Simon fucking Snow. I’m going to have to watch him realize that the bloke he thought he wanted is really…me. Intolerable. Evil. Vampire. Monster. Me.

And then I’ll have to watch him walk away from me. Watch him disappear. Again.

I can’t. I can’t do this.

“I have to go.”

I don’t know how I manage to get the words out, but as soon as I do, I’m grabbing my coat and am starting to flee.

All of the things that I’ve told him, the way I spoke to him, everything is crashing down as I try desperately to hold myself together. I just have to get home. Home, where I can delete this whole disaster from my memory, where I can shower off the shame, and try (again) (hopelessly) (pathetically) to forget about Simon Snow.

**Simon**

Fuck! He’s gonna leave.

I don’t know what to do.

My words are stuck in my throat and he’s standing up and he’s about to walk away and something inside of me is screaming that he can’t.

He just can’t.

I reach out and I know I shouldn’t touch him—I don’t want him to hit me, I don’t want him to flinch, I just don’t want to fight anymore—but I grab his arm anyway.

He yanks it out of my grip like I’m on fire (vampire strength is not fucking fair) but he’s turned around now.

He’s looking at me.

Those grey eyes are staring into mine and for a second (just a split moment, there and gone in a flash) there’s something there. Something I’ve never seen on Baz’s perfect face before. Something out of control. Something vulnerable.

It disappears so fast that anyone else would’ve missed it. But I know I didn’t. I know it because nobody can read Baz’s face like I can. I could map out every expression, I know the way his lip curls when he sneers, the way his one fucking eyebrow goes up when he’s unimpressed, know the rage that storms in those stupid grey eyes. But also the ghost of a smile when he’s reading, the way his brow relaxes when he sleeps. I know that face. I know there’s a chance. And I want to take it.

I stick out my hand and let it hang between us. My empty fingers hang limp, waiting for a handshake, an introduction, a new start.

It’s a reflex and it’s all that I can think to do. Fuck, it feels like yesterday that we were both standing like this, eleven years old and about to start our years at Watford. I stuck my hand out to him then too. Right after the crucible cast us together, pulled me to him and him to me. I waited for him to take it then too. I _wanted_ him to. And fuck, I want him to take it now. I wonder if my eleven-year-old heart was beating this fast.

He’s starting at me and his face is a mask, all sharp lines and restraint. But his jaw is tight, and I know that means he’s struggling with something. 

“What are you doing, Snow,” he snaps.

I leave my hand where it is. “Hi,” I practically growl. “I’m Simon.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Yes, I’m aware.” He’s staring at me like I’m a prized idiot. Fuck, I almost lose my nerve. But this is Baz. Nothing is ever easy with Baz.

He pushes and I push back. And right now, I’m willing to fight for this. For a shot at a second chance.

“You said you wanted to meet properly. Start something new.”

“Is that what I said?” he whispers.

He’s not running, so I keep talking. “Yeah, you did. Two normal people. Regular date. So,” I try to keep the words coming. Try to let them out of my system before I trip over myself, “I’m here. Cause…I uh…I actually liked the bloke I was texting.” It’s all fumbling and awkward, but it’s out there now (Eleven-year-old me didn’t get this far.)

He snorts (Baz. Snorts.)

“And I wanna try that, yeah? So,” I take a step forward, getting far too close, (I can feel his breath on my cheek) my hand still out, and try again. “Hi.” My chin is jutting out and I feel like I’m fighting, but I don’t care because this is how we are and I need it to be alright. “I’m Simon.”

Baz’s mouth is a hard line. The look from earlier is back. He looks…he looks scared.

I don’t have time to process that, though (Baz. Scared. Not possible) because then he’s reaching out his arm and I feel his hand touch mine.

I’m so overwhelmed by the sensation that I almost drop it. His fingers are calloused on the tips (I bet he’s still playing violin) and his skin feel coarse. Fire-maker hands.

“Hi,” he says. Fuck I’ve missed his voice. He sounds baffled, irritated, embarrassed, and soft all at once and I can’t believe I went five years without this. “I’m Baz.”

I can’t help it. I grin.

**Baz**

The beautiful fuck is smiling at me and this is how I die. Vampires don’t disintegrate in sunlight (that’s a myth, although there was a time during fifth year when I would lay under the midday sunlight with a book and watch Snow glare at me from across the lawn) (he was gorgeous when he was confused) (he’s always gorgeous). But I might disintegrate now. Because the beautiful moron is smiling at me—at me, not at anyone else. Me. I did that.

We’re still holding hands, just standing in the middle of the café as people move around us, just holding hands and staring. I should’ve pulled away, but I can’t force myself to stop touching him. I’ve waited so long.

“This is ridiculous—”

“Wanna stay?” He’s craning his neck to look at the glass display of desserts. Of course he is. “Cause I really want to eat…” he pauses, as if he’s calculating, “three of those, and it’d be helpful if I could pretend at least one of them was for you.”

It takes every ounce of self-control not to smile. I feel my lips twitching. “Some things never change, do they, Snow?” I mean to sound disgusted, or at least indifferent, but he’s still holding my hand and I think I’ve lost my nerve.

He shrugs. Of course he does. “C’mon Baz. Please?”

I’ve never been able to deny Snow anything.

I give a quick nod, and there’s that smile again, setting the room on fire.

Crowley. I’m leading a charmed life.

**Simon**

“Which was your fave? And be honest.” I try to sound stern. There are four empty plates on the table.

Baz is holding his coffee cup, balancing the giant red mug between his long fingers. “I’m not sure how you expect an opinion when you practically absorbed them.” His voice is sharp, but I don’t think he means it.

Maybe I had Baz wrong. Maybe this is just how he is with people. Or maybe I’ve just gotten better at dealing with people who don’t like me—being almost-a-social-worker will do that to you.

“You know I like to eat…”

The tension in Baz’s eyes softens a bit and I think he’s halfway to a smile. “Yes, Snow. I have seven years’ experience witnessing the you imitate a human garburator. It would be impressive if it weren’t so…

“Amazing?”

“Let’s go with that.”

We have been sitting at this table for twenty minutes and Baz hasn’t bolted. Sure, he kinda looks like a deer, ready to run at the first sign of trouble, but I asked him to stay.

And he’s still here.

I wanna stare, but I don’t want to freak him out, so my eyes keep sneaking glimpses. Crowley, he’s still proper fit. His hair is hanging loose around his face, his green button up is rolled up to his elbows, and those black jeans…fuck. I don’t know how it took me so long to figure out this out.

But it’s his face I can’t stop staring at. All sharp lines. 

“Soooooo,” I say, “I uh…I never knew you were into…you know, guys.”

Smooth Simon. Real smooth.

His smile disappears. “And when exactly was I supposed to reveal that little tidbit of personal information,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Before or after you tried to convince everyone I was a vampire?”

Shit. Now that I think about it, outing him to the school as a dark creature (even though no one believed me) (even though he was never really dark) was kind of a shit move.

“Look, I’m, uh…I’m sorry about all that.”

“You’re sorry?” His eyes are ruthless, moving over me like a fucking laser.

“I am.” I lean closer. Fuck, I want to touch him again.

“I’m not used to you conceding so quickly.” He’s got his elbows on the table and his face is rested in the palm of his hand.

“Maybe I don’t wanna fight you anymore.”

Baz closes his eyes like I’ve hurt him. “Simon…”

“Holy shit!”

“What?”

“You called me Simon!”

He’s opened his eyes again and looks absolutely mortified. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did!” I don’t know why this is what pushes me over the edge, but it does. It’s a fucking victory. Proof that things can be different. Because he’s never called me Simon before.

It seems stupid, but it matters to me. It matters more than anything has in such a long time.

I want this. (I’m starting to think that maybe I’ve wanted this for a while.)

_Took you long enough to get here, Snow, but I’m glad you’ve finally arrived._

“Baz—”

“Simon!”

A voice from behind me makes me jump. Rage bubbles up in my chest. Who the actual fuck is interrupting me right now? I feel a hand settle on my shoulder.

What the—

I turn around. This can’t be real. It’s too much. What the actual fuck is he doing here?

“Daniel?”

**Baz**

The first thing I notice is the flash of anger that passes over Snow’s face—it was the same way he looked when he was digging in for a fight. I realize that I haven’t seen Simon Snow swing a sword or save the day in five years and that I miss the way he just squared his jaw and settled in, as if he could carry the world on his shoulders like it was nothing. This impossible unbreakable boy.

The second thing I notice was the way the hand settles on his shoulder, familiar and affectionate (I can’t stop staring at the thumb as it smooths up and down, and white hot anger pools in my guts) (Who the fuck thinks they can touch Snow like that?)

The third thing I notice is what the bloke (cause it’s a fucking bloke attached to that thumb) looks like. Tall, on the leaner side, with dark hair that brushes his shoulders. Crowley, he kind of looks like— 

“I wasn’t sure if I should come over, cause you know, I hadn’t heard from you…”

“Oh,” the anger cools, and a smile takes its place. “That’s a funny story actually. I tried to call, but ended up, uh, dialling a wrong number.”

Fuck.

This isn’t happening.

I can’t be here for this.

The stranger laughs and I immediately hate him. He’s all smooth sounds and kind looks. He’s not the jagged edge of knife, he doesn’t cut people down with his tongue. He doesn’t have seven years of shitty remarks to make up for. “Is it dumb that I was hoping you’d say that. Cause I had a really nice time and…” he pauses, blushing a little.

“Daniel I—” Snow cuts him off. 

“Oh god.” Daniel (what a stupid name) seems to notice me for the first time. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Fuck a nine toed troll. He’s looking at me. “I’m Daniel.”

For once, I’m speechless. For once, Snow’s not.

“Oh, this is my uh…my friend Baz. We, uh…well, we went to school together.”

Daniel’s eyes light up as all of the life goes out of my body.

Well then.

That’s what this is.

Two old roommates, thrown back together in a hilarious turn of events that Snow and fucking Daniel will probably laugh at on some fucking date after this mess of an afternoon is over. We’re making the most of an awkward situation.

We’re friends, now.

I suppose it’s better than nemeses.

No.

No, it’s not better at all.

“Well, if you pass me your phone, I’ll program it in then, yeah,” Daniel is saying.

“Uh, I—”

“Sorry, but I actually have to run.” Because I do. I can’t stay here and watch Snow flirt with another bloke. My heart can’t fucking survive it.

“Baz wait!”

But he won’t stop me this time.

I should’ve left when I had the chance. I should never have let the light of Simon Snow back into my life. I should never have agreed to this…whatever this was. I should’ve ignored the fucking text from the very start.

I’m out the door and down the street in a few long strides. I think I hear him crash against the table. I think I hear china shatter. I think I hear him yelling.

But when I get to my car, no one’s chasing me.

I throw the gear shift into first and speed away. I make it five minutes before I give in to the heat that’s burning behind my eyes.

I’m crying over Simon Snow. Again. My phone is buzzing and my heart is pounding and I’m so fucking done with absolutely everything.

I turn the traitorous thing off and I drive and I drive and I drive.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A liminal space of ones and zeros, tiny miracles, and the pains of being left on read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one. A pause in between lows and highs. :) 
> 
> I'm almost done, and as soon as I am, I'll post the rest.

**Simon**

I don’t think they’re going to let me back into that place ever again. It was one of Penny’s favourites and she’s gonna kill me when she finds out. Fuck, my stomach might shrivel up in protest. The first time I ate that cinnamon torte... Maybe I can order it take-out, make a whole covert operation out of it.

_Of course you’re thinking of food right now. Pathetic._

At this point, I’m not sure if that’s Baz’s voice in my head or my own. I’m feeling a lot of self-loathing, so I guess it doesn’t really matter.

I took the whole table out trying to tear after Baz. Coffee cups shattered, plates strewn across the dining room, it was a whole thing. Daniel kept trying to help, asking if I was okay and what was going on and how he could help, getting in the way, and I just wanted to hit him.

Which isn’t exactly fair, cause he’s a lovely bloke. Kind to me, soft around the edges, super smart, tall and dark and fit. He’s bloody perfect. But…

_He’s not me, is he?_

No.

No, he’s really not.

I tried to follow Baz. I yelled and I stampeded through the restaurant. But by the time I’d worked past all of the servers and Daniel and the broken dishes, he was gone.

I was so flustered, I didn’t have the processing power to feel embarrassed (at least that was something). And Daniel finally gave me the right number (maybe that’s something too?) He wants to go out next weekend. And I just don’t have a fucking clue what to do. It all feels so anticlimactic.

Fuck, I’m still processing. And messaging. Crowley, I’ve been messaging like the world is ending.

All left on read.

In one desperate moment, when I was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, and I couldn’t see him, and my heart felt like it was going to leap up out of my throat, I tried calling. The phone rang and rang and I wanted to cry because I’d just gotten him back and I'd managed to lose him again. 

I’m gonna have to tell Penny. She tried to corner me when I got home, peppering me with questions as I kicked off my shoes, following me as I tore across the apartment and slammed my bedroom door.

“Si, c’mon,” she shouted at me. “It can’t’ve been that bad.”

Little does she fucking know.

She’s gonna throw a fit when I manage to get the whole story out. There will be at least one I-told-you-so. I’ll need to bake something in advance, just to keep her mostly quiet while I try to stumble through my…feelings.

Which are a fucking dumpster fire that I have no idea what to do with.

I’m not ready for that. Not tonight. Tonight, I’m going to lay here, under my open window and stare up at the ceiling and just exist. Alone. Processing. Quiet.

It was Baz. It was Baz the whole time.

I go over the messages for the millionth time. There’s so many of them, so many moments. I scroll and scroll, watching how the walls started to come down. A yellow brick road of strange interactions. When we thought we were strangers, we were decent. When we thought we were strangers, we were almost kind. When I thought he was a stranger, I felt…things.

I thought I hated Baz (did I?), I thought he hated me (I'm not so sure anymore). As I look at these stupid messages now, knowing who’s on the other end, each one feels like a tiny miracle.

_Existing in a liminal space of ones and zeros, Snow. Maybe that is the only place where we can be happy, where we can manage to be decent to one another._

For some reason, that thought feels like it’s taking a bite out of my soul.

The sun set a while ago and the traffic lights hum low against the sky. I’m still in my clothes, laying on my back, letting the wind from the window spill in across my face. I know I should take off my sweater, peel off a few layers and crawl under the covers. But I just can’t find it in myself to care.

So I let my mind wander, scrolling and scrolling, tracing my thumb over each tiny miracle, until the blue light carries me off to sleep.

I wonder if Baz is awake right now. I wonder what he’s thinking about. I wonder if the bloke he was in love with was me. It sounded like it could’ve been. It seems fucking ridiculous. Totally impossible. But I hope that it was me.

Fuck, I hope it was me.

**Baz**

**Simon Fucking Snow (2:44 pm): baz where ru**

**Simon Fucking Snow (2:45 pm): u left so fast**

**Simon Fucking Snow (2:48 pm): i cant find you**

**Incoming call from Simon Fucking Snow (2:49 pm)**

**Simon Fucking Snow (2:52 pm): baz srsly**

**Simon Fucking Snow (2:55 pm): im sry**

**Simon Fucking Snow (2:58 pm): i broke a bunch of dishes**

**Simon Fucking Snow (2:59 pm): think the restrant has officaly banned me from eating here**

**Simon Fucking Snow (3:00 pm): a little bummed ngl**

**Simon Fucking Snow (3:10pm): cmon baz i need to talk to u**

**Simon Fucking Snow (3:32 pm): pls answer**

**Simon Fucking Snow (3:51 pm): i know this is fucked up but baz pls**

**Simon Fucking Snow (5:28 pm): I can’t go back to the way things were.**

**Simon Fucking Snow (6:10 pm): I don't wanna be strangers anymore.**

**Simon Fucking Snow (6:12 pm): Cause I fucking miss you.**

**Simon Fucking Snow (6:14 pm): I don’t think I realized how much until today.**

**Simon Fucking Snow (8:30 pm): I need you to know that I meant everything.**

**Simon Fucking Snow (8:31 pm): Everything I said to sexy stranger, I mean it.**

**Simon Fucking Snow (8:31 pm): All of it.**

**Simon Fucking Snow (9:16 pm): Please don’t shut me out Baz.**

**Simon Fucking Snow (10:02 pm): I need you to answer.**

**Simon Fucking Snow (10:05 pm): Don’t disappear.**

**Simon Fucking Snow (10:08 pm): Please. I can’t fucking stand it.**

**Simon Fucking Snow (11:04 pm): I’m gonna keep messaging you.**

**Simon Fucking Snow (1:49 am): Goodnight, Baz.**

_Draft, unsent, BP (1:51 am): Goodnight, Simon._


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Snowbazzy is forever, Agatha saves the day, and Niall will f*** you up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dev and Niall get some banter (I love those two) and I'm stoked for you guys to see it.
> 
> The comments are my life these days, so thank you <3
> 
> I've been trying to stay a couple days ahead, just in case I lost the thread of the story or couldn't write. But I'm writing the last chapter now, so I feel like I can double post and not have a panic attack :)

**Simon**

I used to make lists of things not to think about. They were filled with Penny and Ebb and even Agatha, with scones (I think I used to give scones two slots on my list) (if I didn’t, I should have), with my room and my Watford uniform. All of the stupid things that you don’t realize you’re gonna miss until someone takes them away for two months. All the things that are so good that they hurt to go without and so it’s better to just turn those feelings off for a little while. All the things that a lot of other kids took for granted that I only ever got at Watford.

Being full was such a novelty. Two months was all it took to forget what that feeling was like. Having clothes that fit and friends who loved me…

I spent so much time at Watford sure that I was going to die, that my life was destined for some epic battle that I wouldn’t survive. Looking back, I think Watford actually saved my life.

These days, I would call my lists compartmentalization (a coping mechanism, even if it’s not always healthy), but back then I just called it not thinking—turning my brain off. Leaving it all behind over the summers was too hard if I let myself think about it. So I just didn’t.

I hadn’t really realized that there was one single exception to that rule and of course it was Baz fucking Pitch.

Baz is the one thing I have never been able to turn off.

Not at Watford (Crowley, I was obsessed), not over the summer (he was the only thing I let myself think about), not after I left (my internal fucking monolog is in his voice), and not now.

Merlin and Morgana, not now.

If today was my first day the YRC, they might’ve sent me packing.

Baz could always push through a bad day. I wouldn't have known he’d been out until four am the night before if I weren’t his roommate (and hadn’t stayed up waiting for him to come back) (because I needed to know where he was) (obviously). He could hide exhaustion behind his perfect fucking face and he could hide a bad mood behind a wicked superiority complex.

I am not Baz Pitch.

At 8:30, I dropped a full pot of coffee. It's crash was epic, with the pot shattering on the ceramic tile floor of the drop-in area. Glass shards became tiny projectiles and hot coffee exploded everywhere. I think Tammy would’ve slapped me if John hadn’t pulled me out of the way.

At eleven, I fell down half a flight of stairs. It wasn’t a big deal (I just missed a step and kinda tumbled), but Monica was at the bottom and didn’t expect me to land in a giant lump at her feet. She screamed. People rushed out of the crowded office space to see what all the fuss was about. It was a whole thing.

At two, I walked into the closed doors of one of our work vans and had to chase down a dozen private documents as they scattered to the wind.

It was not a good day.

“Snow?”

I jerk up out of my office chair and nearly knock a stack of case files onto the floor. “Uh, yeah?”

John spins around in his chair and fixes me with a stare. I hate when he does this. When John focuses in on a person, he’s like a fucking crocodile; he doesn’t let you go until he’s properly finished with you. Usually, this is a good thing.

The dude is deadly with the kids and, when he’s doing his thing, he makes you feel like the only person in the world who matters. When John is listening to you, you feel like you’re important, like you are worthwhile, like he’s gonna go to bat for you when shit gets real. Like you have someone who will fight for you.

I’m really not up for it today, though. I feel ready to fall apart at the slightest push and I’d rather just curl up in my bed and—

“Snow. Jesus, look at me for a sec.”

I sigh and spin my chair. The office is so fucking small, we’re practically knee to knee.

“Normally, I’d ask you about your day. What’s going on. Why you’re such a fucking disaster.”

I don’t even put up a fight.

“But you’ve never been like this before. So this next bit?” He pauses to make sure I’m still listening. The fucker’s doing his magic trick, though, so of course I am. I’m hanging on his every word. (I secretly think John’s a mage, but have yet to confirm). “This next bit’s non-negotiable.”

“Right,” I grunt, blinking a little, trying to pretend I’m not as tired as I feel.

“We’re going to pack up our shit now.”

“Now?” I look down at my watch, stifling a yawn. It’s ten past three. We’ve still got over an hour left to work. If Tammy finds out…

“Yes now. Call it a wellness check. On you.”

“John—”

“What did I say about non-negotiable?” He’s using his boss look now, all stern and serious. I hate him. “Put your shit in your bag. I’m taking you out for a pint.”

And that’s how I ended up three beers deep, feeling pretty fucking buzzed, at 4:20 pm on a Monday.

“Wait wait wait,” John says, leaning back into the cheap orange plastic of the booth, a laughing like a maniac. “The bloke you’ve been texting wasn’t the guy you went out with?”

“No,” I groan, and take another long drink.

“It was your roommate from some posh fucking boarding school you went to.”

That’s actually not a bad description of Watford. “Stop making me relive this.”

“Call it exposure therapy,” he says, laughing a little. “How is this shit even happening? Like the chances are a zillion to one!”

“I know!” I slam my mug down in protest. “Like. This shouldn’t be real.”

“I dunno. Seems kinda like something that’d happen to you.”

I hate that he’s right. This is far from the strangest part of my life.

“You’re an enigma, Snow?”

I shrug. I’m a bit dizzy honestly. But I feel calm for the first time since I left the dessert café.

“Look,” John says, his voice suddenly serious. “This guy. What’s his name?”

“Baz.” I feel a little electric. It’s nice to have a reason to say his name out loud after so many years. 

“This Baz. Do you love him?”

“What!? Why would you say that?”

“Cause you spent almost all of the last hour talking about him—”

“Doesn’t mean I love—

“You’ve been checking your phone every two seconds all day—

“Still doesn’t mean—"

“And I’ve never seen you so fucking red Snow. And I was there when you face-planted into Haley’s birthday cake. If you don’t love him, you _definitely_ want him.”

I do. I know I do.

But it’s a hard thing to admit out loud.

“But he’s mean,” I practically pout.

John rolls his eyes. “You need someone to match you.”

“He’s too fucking handsome.”

“Not a thing. Also, really Snow? Don’t be so insecure. You’re not so bad yourself.”

“You’re my friend,” I mumble. “And straight.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m blind.”

“He…” I’m flailing. Compliments usually make me wobbly. “He never backs down. He’s fucking ruthless when he wants something. He’s bloody brilliant. Smartest person I’ve ever met.”

John is grinning like a circus clown. “Do you need me to tell you that none of those things are bad or can you do the therapeutic analysis on yourself?”

I put my face in my hands, if only so I can stop looking at his stupid smug face. “I knoooow. But he’s never gonna want me back.”

There it is. Insecurity. Shame. Things I thought I’d mostly left behind—in the years where Baz reminded me how stupid I was, how terrible I was, how fucking useless I was every goddamn day—grabbing me by the ankles and pulling me under.

John leaves me to stew for a minute. “Snow?"

"What," I growl.

"Quit feeling sorry for yourself."

"I'm not!" (I am).

"From everything you’ve told me? It sounds like this Baz has got it pretty bad. And that you fucked up.”

I want to make excuses. (Daniel just showed up) (he ran away too fast) (I didn’t know what to say) but I don’t. Instead, I peek up at John out of the cradle of my arms. My breath smells like beer. I’m tired of fighting.

“So what do I do? He won’t answer my texts or my calls or anything.”

John’s grin isn’t cheerful anymore—it’s scheming. “You stop moping and you find that slippery fuck.”

“Penny!”

I barge into the apartment with the energy of a tropical storm (and more than a little drunk). The first thing I notice is the countertop—a disaster of flour and mixing bowls and…what did she do in there? Penny never cooks.

“There’s a plate of scones on your bed,” I hear her say, answering my unspoken thoughts (mind reader). I follow the voice over to the living room and find Penny, her legs up on the back of the couch, hair spilling down onto the floor, highlighter in her mouth. “They’re definitely not as good as the ones from school, but you seemed pretty down, so,” she gestures towards the kitchen. “I tried.”

I drop my backpack on the floor and rush at her, wrapping her in a full body hug.

“Simon!” she squeals as I hug her tighter. Upside-down hugs are a bit strange, but right now, I find I don’t care. “What’s that for?”

“You’re…I just…yeah,” I say, releasing her.

Penny struggles to right herself and then fixes me with a look that I know means business. “You ready to tell me about what happened yesterday?”

I am. For better or for worse, I’ve decided what I want (who I want) and I’m going to just do it.

It’s time to fucking swoosh.

First Band-Aid. “Pen, sexy stranger was Baz.”

“Simon!” But I'm not stopping now. 

Second Band-Aid. “And I think I’m in...I think I like him. Like that. You know.”

“SIMON!”

I’m on a roll now and I’m not stopping now. “And I need you to give me a crash course in social mediums—”

“—Social media.”

I ignore her. I’m know the words I want to say and I’m seeing them through. “Cause I’m going to find him. And then I’m going to tell him everything. And it’s gonna fucking work.”

“Charm offensive?”

“Fucking cherrismo and platiscones.”

**Baz**

Snowbazzy4ever has followed you!

New Direct Message, Snowbazzy4ever (8:22 pm): baz! pls i need to see u!!!!!

New Direct Message, Snowbazzy4ever (9:30 pm): u cant ignore me foerver

New Direct Message, Snowbazzy4ever (10:54 pm): also didnt rlly want to call u bazzy but snowbaz4ever was already taken

New Direct Message, Snowbazzy4ever (10:55 pm): werid hey?

Snapchat Notification: SimonSnowscone has added you

Simon Snow has sent you a friend request.

Messenger Notification, Simon Snow (11:19 pm): bazzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Messenger Notification, Simon Snow (11:25 pm): pls baz

Messenger Notification, Simon Snow (11:27 pm): basil?

Messenger Notification, Simon Snow (11:28 pm): bazzy???

Aleister fucking Crowley.

**Simon**

Of all the people I expected to save the day...well, I didn’t think it would be Agatha.

After four days of what was definitely borderline harassment and still no response, Penny called Aggie. It was a plan of last resort, but she’d always been the most social of the three of us. The most normal.

I swear, I could hear her scream from America when Penny told her what was happening. 

“Yeah, I wasn’t really surprised either,” Penny whispered when she thought I couldn’t hear her.

“All that stalking makes so much more sense now.” Agatha’s a fucking traitor.

But she also happened to have two brilliant ideas.

Which ended up being Dev and Niall’s cellphone numbers.

“When did you get those!” I blustered at her face, swimming in and out of focus on Penny's laptop screen.

“Oh, I don’t know," she answered, mid eye roll. "Maybe when you were off murdering goblins or saving the magical world.”

...

**Simon (5:15 pm): so I kinda need some help**

** Dev (5:17 pm): who the fuck is this? **

**Simon (5:18 pm): shit sry**

**Simon (5:19 pm): its me simon**

_Niall (5:21 pm): Simon Snow?_

** Dev (5:22 pm): wait like from school? **

**Simon (5:22 pm): yeah**

_Niall (5:23 pm): Not to be rude, but why are you messaging us?_

** Dev (5:23 pm): why the fuck ru mssging us? **

** Dev (5:24 pm): how are u even doing this? **

** Dev (5:24 pm): who gave u my number **

**Simon (5:25 pm): agatha**

**Simon (5:25 pm): dont be mad**

**Simon (5:25 pm): its not her fualt tho**

**Simon (5:26 pm): i had to beg her**

**Simon (5:26 pm): like a lot**

**Simon (5:26 pm): and like**

**Simon (5:26 pm): u have no idea how awkward it is to beg your ex gf for stuff**

**Simon (5:27 pm): like**

**Simon (5:27 pm): fuck**

_Niall (5:28 pm): I can only imagine_

** Dev (5:28 pm): that’s rough man **

** Dev (5:29 pm): also  **

** Dev (5:29 pm): dude what the fuck do you want **

**Simon (5:30 pm): right!**

**Simon (5:30 pm): i need u to help me find baz**

** Dev (5:31 pm): yeah  **

** Dev (5:31 pm): Snow? **

** Dev (5:32 pm): WHY THE FUCK WOULD WE DO THAT?! **

**Simon (5:33 pm): DEV QUIT YELLING**

**Simon (5:33 pm): …**

**Simon (5:33 pm): sry. feeling a bit tense. just like…hear me out**

**Simon (5:34 pm): its just…**

**Simon (5:34 pm): this is gonna sound weird**

**Simon (5:35 pm): and i swaer i wouldnt be mssging you if i could think of any other way**

_Niall (5:36 pm): Simon, we can’t help you unless you actually tell us something._

** Dev (5:37 pm): spit it out snow **

**Simon (5:38 pm): right okay**

**Simon (5:39 pm): its just rlly hard to explain**

** Dev (5:40 pm): SNOW!!! **

**Simon (5:41 pm): Okay!**

**Simon (5:41 pm): have u guys seen baz texting a lot lately?**

_Niall (5:42 pm): No._

** Dev (5:42 pm): Yes **

_Niall (5:43 pm): Really?_

** Dev (5:43 pm): yeah u didn’t notice? he wouldn’t put that shit down all weekend **

_Niall (5:44 pm): I’m sorry. Maybe I was distracted by the drunken mess I had to transport._

** Dev (5:44 pm): piss off, I was a fucking gentleman **

_Niall (5:45 pm): Sure._

** Dev (5:45 pm): it wasn’t that bad???? **

_Niall (5:46 pm): We’ll talk about this later._

**Simon (5:47 pm): ANYWYAS**

**Simon (5:47 pm): that was…yeah that was me**

** Dev (5:47 pm): FUCK OFF **

_Niall (5:47 pm): NO FUCKING WAY_

** Dev (5:48 pm): No **

** Dev (5:48 pm): Not possible  **

** Dev (5:49 pm): He was…he was giggling **

_Niall (5:50 pm): How? How did this happen?_

**Simon (5:51 pm): awe rlly?? :D**

** Dev (5:51 pm): fuck off snow there’s no way **

** Dev (5:51 pm): he hates you **

** Dev (5:52 pm): like **

** Dev (5:52 pm): you hate him **

** Dev (5:52 pm): I don’t  **

** Dev (5:53 pm): It doesn’t make sense **

_Niall (5:54 pm): Well, it may make a little bit of sense._

** Dev (5:54 pm): WHAT NIALL  **

** Dev (5:54 pm): WHY SO MANY SECRETS! **

_Niall (5:55 pm): We’ll talk about it later._

**Simon (5:55 pm): guys**

_Niall (5:56 pm): Sorry. Go on Snow._

** Dev (5:56 pm): Dude im still processing **

_Niall (5:57 pm): Good for you._

**Simon (5:57 pm): we didnt know**

**Simon (5:58 pm): it was sort of an accident**

**Simon (5:58 pm): i mssged him by mistake**

**Simon (5:59 pm): and we just…**

**Simon (5:59 pm): yeah**

** Dev (6:00 pm): you just what??? **

_Niall (6:01 pm): Snow. I’m going to ask you a very serious question._

_Niall (6:01 pm): I need you to be honest. No plotting. No fucking around._

_Niall (6:02 pm): Because if you are, I will fucking murder you, cut up your body, and bury the pieces where no one will find you._

**Simon (6:03 pm): fcuk niall your kinda scary**

** Dev (6:03 pm): I’m a little turned on **

**Simon (6:04 pm): what???**

_Niall (6:05 pm): Simon. Do you have feelings for Baz?_

** Dev (6:05 pm): WTF **

**Simon (6:05 pm): …**

**Simon (6:06 pm): yeah**

**Simon (6:06 pm): i do**

**Simon (6:06 pm): i rlly rlly do**

**Dev (6:07 pm) : ** **🤯 🤯 🤯**

_Niall (6:08 pm): I’m going save us all some time and take a guess at this next bit and you can tell me if I’m close._

_Niall (6:09 pm): You fucked up somehow. And he’s ghosting you. And you want our help?_

**Simon (6:10 pm): niall**

**Simon (6:10 pm): like wat ru?**

_Niall (6:11 pm): Baz is pretty predictable when he’s upset._

**Simon (6:11 pm): well your right**

**Simon (6:11 pm): that pretty well covers it**

** Dev (6:12 pm): you **

** Dev (6:12 pm): golden boy **

** Dev (6:12 pm): Baz **

** Dev (6:12 pm): like…BAZ **

** Dev (6:13 pm): did the humdrum break your brain? **

**Simon (6:14 pm): honestly? i know it sounds crazy**

**Simon (6:14 pm): but i think we just grew up**

**Simon (6:14 pm): u know?**

_Niall (6:15 pm): Snow, I’m going to help you._

** Dev (6:16 pm): WE are gonna help you **

**Simon (6:16 pm): thnak fuck**

**Simon (6:17 pm): i dont know what i wouldve done**

**Simon (6:17 pm): srsly**

**Simon (6:17 pm): ive been losing it**

**Simon (6:18 pm): i need to make things right so bad and i felt like id never get the chance**

**Simon (6:18 pm): and im just…**

**Simon (6:18 pm): yeah**

**Simon (6:18 pm): thx guys**

** Dev (6:19 pm): snow like, no offence, but your shit at texting  **

** Dev (6:19 pm): how do you keep baz from tearing you apart??? **

**Simon (6:20 pm): *you’re**

**Simon (6:20 pm): and fuck u**

_Niall (6:21 pm): …_

_Niall (6:21 pm): At least he doesn’t send explicit messages or pictures of his dick to people in the middle of the afternoon._

** Dev (6:22 pm): hey!!!! **

** Dev (6:22 pm): thats private! **

_Niall (6:23 pm): You and I both know that it wasn’t private for me._

** Dev (6:23 pm): u cnat just tell ppl that baby! **

**Simon (6:24 pm): baby?**

**Simon (6:24 pm): wait**

**Simon (6:24 pm): are you two…**

_Niall (6:25 pm): Yes Snow._

** Dev (6:25 pm): FUCK YEAH WE ARE  **

**Simon (6:26 pm): huh**

**Simon (6:26 pm): congrats hey?**

** Dev (6:26 pm): ;)  **

** Dev (6:27 pm): thx **

** Dev (6:27 pm): took me a little longer to figure it out **

**Simon (6:28 pm): u and me both man**

** Dev (6:29 pm): but at the end of the day, who wouldnt be completely gay for this tall gangly fuck **

_Niall (6:30 pm):_ 🤦

_Niall (6:31 pm): Thank you Simon. Some days are better than others._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wasteland of violent little hurts, smells of home, and sleeping in the arms of the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it friends. Penultimate chapter. I'd planned for it to be two chapters, but changed my mind. So here's all of it. The rest. The end.

**Baz**

Dev has his sweaty feet resting on my coffee table and I can’t stop staring at them. There’s moisture collecting on the glass and I can’t believe that I am going to have to wipe down my cousin’s foot juices later.

Disgusting.

I should never have let Dev and Niall through the door. It’s not that I don’t want to see them—as much as I complain, they’re better friends than most (better than I deserve sometimes). The problem (for once) (I would never admit this to them) is me.

Because I am currently trying to extricate myself from the gravity that is Simon fucking Snow and he is making it very very difficult. And I am finding myself a bit...agitated. 

On Monday, I was sipping my caramel mocha breve on my walk across campus when the text came in.

**Simon Fucking Snow (8:45 am): good morning. i miss u**

I nearly dropped my phone. I _did_ drop my coffee. All down my fucking shirt. I wore the evidence of his tiny intrusion into my life all day.

I hate Simon fucking Snow.

But it was going to be fine, because on Monday night, the English department was hosting Jack Halberstam and not even Simon Snow could distract me. Not from that.

Or so I thought.

Under the lights of the dim theatre, as Halberstam's voice filtered through the rafters, the bastard exploded my phone. Message after message from every social media platform imaginable. My pocket was vibrating so aggressively, the friction became a fire hazard.

Memories of that night four years ago, when I scoured the internet for any trace of my chosen one, filter back as I let my fingers trace each profile. They’re all new (Bunce must’ve walked him through how to do this. There’s no way Simon could manage this on his own). All in an effort to talk to…me.

I hate Simon fucking Snow.

And he just kept at it. 

**Simon Fucking Snow (7:31 am): crowly im tired today**

**Simon Fucking Snow (5:41 pm): one of my kids showed up with their teeth sharpened at drop in today. thought of u**

**Simon Fucking Snow (3:35 pm): john called me thick todya. almost told him your the only one allowed to do that**

**Simon Fucking Snow (11:02 pm): every time i feel my phone go off, i hope its u**

**Simon Fucking Snow (11:03 pm): i want it to be u**

On and on and on.

At least, until Wednesday, when everything stopped.

Which is what I thought I wanted. The space to cleanse, to pull myself out of the intoxicating pull that is Simon. I wanted it so badly until he stopped. 

My phone has become the centre of my universe: every time it hums, I look for Simon. My mind is a wasteland of violent little hurts. Cycling around and around on how quickly he gave up. On how there is no way that we could start over. On how someone like Daniel (fuck that guy) is so much better for him anyway.

This is worse. This is so much worse.

It’s Saturday and my nerves are frayed—I’m a live wire and ready to lash out at anyone who comes even remotely close. And, as much as I may need somewhere for this nervous energy to go, I don’t want to unleash it on my friends. I just don’t.

Niall has his head in Dev’s lap but he’s looking at me; there’s something behind that look and I don’t think I’m going to enjoy whatever thoughts are making those shapes in his face.

They’ve been here for over for an hour and Dev has clearly been building up to something. Four beers in, he finally seems ready.

“So that bloke you were texting,” Dev says, finishing his beer and slamming the bottle on the coffee table. I try not to wince. “What was that about?”

“Nothing.” I don’t want to talk about this.

“Didn’t look like nothing,” Dev said. Crowley, he’s waggling his eyebrows up and down (is this Dev’s sexy face?) (Does this work on Niall?)

“Did you meet someone?” Niall asks, pinning me with that fucking look.

“No.” I bite back the cruel words that are desperate to come out.

Dev leans back into the couch and stretches. He’s more orangutan than person. “You’re full of shit. Stop being…” he gestures vaguely at me, “well, stop being you for a minute, would you?”

I do not like where this conversation is headed.

“What Dev means,” Niall says, his words smooth and soft. He’s looking at me like I’m a creature about to bolt. Maybe I am. “Is that we’re worried about you and we want you to know that you can talk to us about—

“We know, Baz.”

Niall looks at Dev like he’s going to strangle him.

“Know what?” My words are tight. I’m throwing them out. I’m not doing this.

“We know about Snow,” Dev says.

“Jesus Dev, some fucking tact once in a while—

“I told Niall that you should give him a chance,” Dev says.

“And I told Dev we should talk to you. That you probably needed someone to unpack your feelings—

“Since when do you get an opinion on what I should and shouldn’t do,” I say, feeling heat rising in my face. “And what feelings?” I think I’m shouting. I don’t know when I started shouting.

“Baz,” Niall says, his voice still calm. “We’ve known for years.”

“We think it's bloody brilliant. Kinda funny, honestly.”

“Oh, fucking hilarious,” I snap.

Niall lifts himself out of Dev’s lap and off the couch. He’s inching closer and closer to me. “And we think you should give this a chance—”

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion on relationships. Given the person you’re currently attached to, I don’t plan to start.”

“Oi! We’re family!” Dev looks like I pissed in his cereal. “See, I said you’d react like this,” Dev says. “You’re not really a feelings guy.”

“How the fuck would you know!” I’m on my feet. I don’t know when that happened either.

“You push everyone away Baz,” Niall says, and that look is tunneling through my chest.

“So, we’re going with my plan now,” Dev says, taking out his phone and starting to text.

“What plan!” I shout, but then have a better idea. I don’t have to have this conversation. This I my house and it’s my Saturday night, and I can spend it wallowing if I want to. “I’m not doing this. Get out. Both of you. Now.”

Niall looks at Dev. “Is he on his way up?”

“What—”

“Yup,” Dev says.

“Can’t believe he just waited out there. It’s been over an hour—”

“If you don’t tell me what is going on right now, I will tear out your vocal cords and strangle you with them.”

Dev crosses my small living room for the kitchen. “Empty threat,” he says. “And you’ll thank me later.”

Niall is putting his coat on and Dev has grabbed the rest of his beer from the fridge

“Dev said that you needed someone who’d push back. Who’d fight you. And fight for you. And you know what,” Niall says, and I am finally able to place that look. It’s empathy. Fucking empathy. Niall wanted Dev for a long time before it finally worked out. “I think that might be the first time Dev’s been right about anything.”

“Hey!” he shouts from the door. He’s putting on his shoes. “I was right about you.”

“Eight years late.”

“Oh, fuck off—” A loud thump cuts through their needling.

Everyone freezes

There’s a knock at the door.

And I’m starting to think I know who it is.

It is as if the universe is determined to make me as uncomfortable as possible as often as possible and, for a moment, I seriously consider lighting myself on fire.

“You’re not going to like this,” Niall says as he opens the door. “But It’ll be worth it. Believe me. I know.”

There’s a scramble as Dev and Niall step out. Dev slaps someone on the back. “Good luck, mate.”

“If he tries to kill you, we’ll come by later and put you back together,” Niall half laughs.

And then they’re gone.

And Simon Snow steps into my apartment. Holding a bouquet of fucking flowers.

I should have thrown him out right away, pushed him out, tried to slam the door in his face before he could get inside.

Because now he’s here and looking at me.

_Give me a chance Baz._

There’s moisture clinging to his curls and his white shirt is damp. He’s wearing that same leather jacket. Half of me wants to throw him through the wall and the other half of me wants to peel the brown leather off his shoulders and run my hands down his—

Fuck.

_One more chance, Baz._

Simon closes the door behind him and we’re alone.

I can’t stop staring. 

“Uh,” he says, grinning awkwardly. “These are for you?” He holds out the bundle of brown paper and I see bright yellow peeking through the corners.

Simon Snow bought me sunflowers. Merlin and Morgana.

I don’t take them. I can’t. I won’t.

“Get the fuck out of my apartment Snow.”

The words glance off him. Like every monster, every blow, every world ending disaster, because this travesty of a boy is unbreakable. “Why didn’t you answer my texts?”

“Maybe because I didn’t want to talk to you.” I’m pushing him away and I just can’t stop. Simon Snow is too much. He’s always been too much.

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

It suddenly strikes me how one face can be so similar to how I remembered it and so different. The lines are more square, and there’s something in the way he holds himself that feels…like Simon Snow isn’t a boy anymore. He’s grittier, his determination has a shape…and it suits him. He’s a proper fucking protagonist.

“I know you liked talking to me. I’ve gone through the messages a thousand times. I know…fuck Baz, I know it wasn’t just me.” He’s talking with his hands, and flower petals are starting to go everywhere. He doesn’t seem to notice.

I’m staring and he’s staring right back. “You certainly think a lot of yourself.”

There’s a flash of anger behind those perfect blue eyes. Yes. This is the Snow I know. Angry, riled up, going off. This I know how to deal with.

“You can try to pretend like it was nothing—”

“No need to pretend.”

“Fuck off Baz. Stop doing that!”

“Doing what?” (I know what.)

“Fighting me!” He’s a violent shade of red now, one hand pulling at his curls, the other hanging limp, still clutching the flowers. He’s going to tear his hair out of his scalp. But I can’t find it in myself to care. I just need him gone, out of my space, somewhere that isn’t here.

“Going soft Snow?” I drawl.

“No!” he’s shouting now. I forgot how easy it was to rile him up. “I’m growing up.”

That one sneaks under my skin. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“I just…I can’t…I want…”

“Use your words, Snow.”

Snow looks on the verge of exploding and for a moment I wonder if he still has enough magic to go nuclear. He looks like he wants to charge at me. Maybe five years ago he would have. And this whole mess would have ended in a broken nose or a black eye. But we’re not seventeen anymore.

Snow closes his eyes and I can see his lips counting off breaths (I want to kiss him). The rage drains out of him. He gently places the flowers on the counter top behind him.

“Baz,” he says, and when he looks at me, his eyes confused and…sad. “Why are you doing this?”

Because I’m terrified you’ll leave again and I don’t think I would survive it. Because you are so alive. Because there are nice blokes out there who would be kinder to you, Simon. That, even as you stand in front of my, that I can’t imagine you ever wanting—

“You introduced me as a friend.” There. I said it. It sounds pathetic and childish and petty. But I can’t help myself.

He’s turning red. “I didn’t know what you thought we were—”

“We were never friends,” I snap.

Simon shrugs. “I just…I didn’t want to scare you off, y’know?”

“What a well-executed plan, chosen one.”

“C’mon I didn’t plan…I didn’t know…I panicked!”

“And what about…” I swallow, trying to find my courage. Saying the name makes me physically nauseous. “What about Daniel.”

“Oh yeah, he asked me to go out. Tonight actually.”

I recoil. It’s like his words lashed out and hit me.

Snow must’ve seen it on my face, because the next words race out of him. “Oh, I told him I couldn’t. No way. Fuck that. That I was actually…sorta seeing someone else.”

“What do you mean? Why would you say that?”

Simon shrugs. Of course he does. “Well he’s nice and all. And he doesn’t yell at me.”

“He doesn’t know you like I do.”

Simon’s smirking and I think I might melt into the floor. “He’s also not a sarcastic prat.”

I look down. I can’t really argue with that.

“But Baz. He’s…”

Simon’s standing there, and I can see his hands squirming inside his pockets. He looks awkward and uncomfortable and…

Vulnerable?

“He’s not you.”

Oh.

“Took me a while to figure it out—”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“You’re impossible. And fucking ruthless.”

“I think you mean talented and driven.”

“You set a fucking chimera on me.”

“One time.” I’m fighting this. I don’t know why I’m fighting this.

“And you pushed me down the stairs.”

Okay, that is blatantly unfair. “You fell!”

“Fuck, shut up for a sec. I’m trying to say something important.”

And to his credit, he’s doing better than he did at seventeen. There’s still some bluster, but it’s more controlled. He’s electric and brimming with tension and stress and it’s so uniquely Simon that my chest hurts. I can’t look away.

“What do you want, Snow?”

His eyes are blazing.

“I just…Baz I need to know.”

“Know what?” My voice feels small, and I can feel myself backing away.

He’s narrowed his eyes at me, and his face settles into something serious. His chin is jutting out and he looks like he wants to fight me.

Oh no.

Two strides and he’s crossed the room. I try to back away, but I’m flush with the wall.

He’s close. Fuck he’s too close.

The tip of his nose almost touches mine.

“What the fuck are you doing, Snow.”

“Was it me?” Those simple blue eyes are on fire.

“What on earth are you—”

“You said you’d been…you know…in love.”

“Shut up.” I try to snap, but it comes out as a whisper.

Snow leans in closer. “No. Not this time. I’m using my fucking words.”

Oh Crowley.

“You said he hated you.”

“He did.” I’m on fire.

“That by the time you figured things out, it was too late.”

“It was.” I’m going to die here, he’s going to be the end of me.

“That you loved him.”

“I did.” I still do.

“Baz. Was it me?”

I’m not the brave one. I don’t run into things with the abandon of the fucking chosen one. I don’t just put my head down and take a swing. I think and I plan and I wait.

But I’m so tired of waiting.

“Yes.” It’s one word and its everything.

I can feel his eyes all over me but I can’t look up. I can’t look at him. Because I’ve jumped in and I don’t know if I can swim and I’m just so fucking scared.

I feel his hand slip into mine. He’s so warm and his thumb is tracing these little circles against my palm. Every place where our skin touches is electric, and I’ve forgotten how to breathe. The live wire is crackling and I think I know where I want all of these feelings to go.

“Baz?” 

His voice is low, and there’s no anger there anymore. He’s close now that I can smell him. Cheap soap, cinnamon and sugar and something so Simon.

I close my eyes. I’m full of him. He’s touching me and he’s so close I could just lean in and—

And then _he’s_ kissing _me_.

**Simon**

I’ve never wanted someone the way I want Baz. It’s insistent and warm, it pulls and I feel it in my hands and my head and I want

I want

I want.

His lips were parted, and I couldn’t stop staring at them. I was touching him and he was letting me, and I just…

It starts soft, something gentle, reaching out, careful just in case. And then Baz grabs a fistful of my t-shirt and pulls me into him, and his mouth is urgent and hungry against mine and that’s when I lose my mind.

**Baz**

I’m kissing Simon Snow

His hands are cradling the sides of my face like I’m something precious and his mouth is so soft against mine and I think that, yes, if I died right now, it wouldn’t even matter. He pulls my bottom lip in between his teeth and I have to choke back the moan that’s buried in my throat.

I’m dignified. I’m a Pitch. I’m—

—oh sweet fuck, his tongue is in my mouth and I am going to eat him alive.

**Simon**

“Baz,” I mumble against his lips.

“Yes.” His voice is low and quiet, and there’s something in it I’ve never heard before (that I want to keep hearing for as long as he’ll let me). He slips his hands under my shirt and they’re cool against my skin.

I growl into his mouth. I can’t help it.

“I…this…”

“Your words, Snow,” he says. There’s no space between us. It’s cold and hot, flushed and desperate, and I can’t figure out where he starts and I stop. And I don’t fucking care.

Words. “This is.” I move away from his mouth and he hisses at me. “So much better.” I’m kissing the corner of his mouth, down the line of his jaw. When I reach his neck, he fucking moans and I nearly die. “Than fighting.”

And then Baz does something I’ve never seen him do before—at least, not like this, not for me. He laughs. It’s accidental and easy and it feels like magic.

I smile against his cool skin. I made Baz laugh. I’m kissing Baz. And maybe it’s the adrenaline or the relief, but I’m laughing too.

And then we’re both laughing. He’s got his arms wrapped around me, like he’s worried I’m going to disappear, and I lean into it. Into him.

I let my head rest between his shoulder and his neck, and I breathe him in. Cedar and bergamot washes over me and I could cry with relief. It smells like home.

**Baz**

My chin is resting on top of Simon Snow’s golden curls and I can feel his cheek hot against my skin.

“Baz,” he says, and I could spend the rest of my life listening to him say my name like that. “Can I…I mean…can I stay?”

If I could blush, my face would be in fucking bloom.

“Not like…I don’t mean it like _that_ or anything. I…fuck Baz. I just…I’ve missed you, yeah?”

My throat is tight and I close my eyes against the swell of feeling, old crashing into new crashing into this.

“And I’m just…well I’m not ready to go yet.”

“I suppose you could stay,” I say, resisting the urge to press a kiss into his curls. “If you take off your shoes. You’re tracking dirt into my apartment. We’re not animals.”

…

I push a stray curl off of Simon’s forehead, letting my fingers trace from one mole to the next. We’re in my bed (Simon Snow. In my bed), my back is pressed against the headboard and Simon’s head is resting in my lap. The credits are cycling for a movie that we didn’t watch and the light is dipping in and out of Simon’s eyes. I can’t stop staring. So I don’t.

It wasn’t the erotic grope fest I might’ve imagined at fifteen. It was babbling, mostly. Laying in one bed instead of two. And things just spilled into the open.

Snow gritted out a few words about the mage and the goatherd and how it was his fault they died. I opened my mouth to argue, but there were tears hovering in the corners of his eyes, ready to spill out their grief. In that moment, the words of a lazy cretin reminded me that, even though I didn’t agree with the feelings, that maybe for tonight, just being here was enough.

I confessed my habit of dating Simon replicas. “It felt like a montage of Snow clones, moving through my life. Nothing ever stuck.”

“Their own fault,” he said, half irritation, half pride. “They need to learn to say no to you.”

“I’m irresistible.”

“Sure.”

I let him eat in my bed (Setting a bad precedent) (Fuck, I’m setting a precedent for time in my bed with Simon) (I truly am living a charmed life). There’s a graveyard of empty bags of crisps on my floor and I just don’t care enough to clean them up. Not when Simon’s laying in my lap.

He hasn’t stopped touching me. My phone has been vibrating non-stop, but for once, I don’t find I care.

“I heard you in my head sometimes,” he whispers, reaching up to grab my hand. It pulls me out of my thoughts. “You were always ready to tell me off. But your voice was…even when you were giving me grief, I still hung onto it.” He’s pressing my knuckles against his lips, kissing them one by one.

I try to hide a smile behind my teeth.

“I’ve been told I give excellent advice,” I say, tracing my fingers up through his hair.

“You were mostly a twat,” he says, laughing a little, and I feel little huffs of air against my fingertips.

“I think that may say just as much about you as it does about me, Snow.”

“Hey Baz,” he says, tilting his head up at me. “Can you…call me Simon? You did it before and…” his face is a delightful shade of pink and I find myself tracing the lines of his mouth.

“I’ll think about it.”

Simon sighs. “Stubborn git.”

“No. That’s not what you called me. What was it?” I pause for dramatic effect. “I think your exact words were ‘so fit it was criminal?’”

“Shhhh,” Simon says, rolling off my lap and pulling at my wrist. “I was delusional. Spilling secrets to a stranger. Not my fault.”

I sink down into bed next to him, pulling my duvet up to our shoulders.

“Baz?” His voice is thick with sleep. “What was my name in your phone.”

I feel my mouth turn up in a smile. “I’ll never tell.”

“Tosser,” he mumbles and rolls into me, pressing his forehead to mine.

“Can’t believe it was me,” Snow breathes, halfway between this world and a dream.

I listen to his breathing even out, feel him shift, rolling over and settling his back against my chest. I let my arms close tight around him and feel my eyes fall shut. I try to let everything—his warmth, his smell, that he’s here—wash over me, just in case this a fantasy, some strange vampire purgatory.

Simon Snow’s gravity pulls me closer and closer and I’m going to die burning in the arms of the sun. “Of course it was you, Simon,” I whisper against the back of his neck as sleep is about to take me. “It’s always been you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this may sound cliche, but thank you for all of the positive, encouraging, fucking lovely comments and kudos.  
> This is my first time ever writing fanfiction and I was really apprehensive and anxious about it. Thank you for coming on this ride with me and showing me that it's a really fun (safe) place to share stories.  
> I have tumblr now (still new to that too) and if you're over there, please come find me!  
> Tumblr: amywaterwings

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr!  
> [amywaterwings](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/amywaterwings/)


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